The Handmaiden's Philosophy
by SimplySupreme
Summary: Twenty years after refusing to cast the Dark Curse, Queen Regina of the Summerlands picks up a strange tavern-girl in the middle of the road. She becomes handmaiden to the Queen, but is truly so much more than what she seems. The magic is in the mystery, they say, and Emma is Regina's favorite puzzle. At least her life is never boring. (AU where the Curse is never cast. SQ)
1. Chapter 1: Emma

**A/N: Hi! So for those of you that are worried, this story is actually already written aside from a few minor changes I'm sure I'll make as I receive feedback, so for once I'm actually going to finish a story! You know, eventually. (Sorry if I just gave the old ladies among you heart attacks.) Updates will come depending on how badly college is kicking my ass.**

**So as it says in the description, this is an AU story based on the idea that Regina couldn't kill her father to cast the curse. We'll just say Rumple hitched a ride with a mermaid or something to find Bae. I don't even care. The point is, everyone's still in FTL and Storybrooke never existed. This story is very Emma and Regina centric (expect SwanQueen later on) and I'll be going quite a bit into the theory of magic and their respective issues and such. I also wouldn't read this if you're a hardcore Snow and Charming lover. Anything beyond that is a spoiler!**

**Enjoy!**

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Handmaiden's Philosophy  
Chapter One

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_Emma's POV_

Emma had always hated dust. She didn't mind a few dirt smudges here and there, or even splatters of mud, but dust? Dust was awful. It floated through the air, tickling her nose and her lungs, and settled into lonely corners and onto forgotten things. Emma hated dust.

Which was the most immediate (of many) reasons why she happened to be in a foul mood at the moment.

The road between the villages of Lyon and Bosque was long, twisting, and horrifically dusty. With each step she took, Emma's booted feet kicked up golden puffs of it, tinting the dark leather of her footwear and the blue hem of her sundress a pallid beige that made Emma feel like all of her vitality was bleeding out of her body and into the miserable road. This did absolutely nothing to improve her mood.

It really hadn't been the best week for her.

For the past two years, Emma had been happily living in the little village of Lyon. She'd worked regularly as a tavern girl and even as an occasional herbalist and potions mistress when she was able to collect the proper magical plants to practice the art. Lyon was extremely average for a village in the kingdom of the Summerlands. Not too bustling, but not mired in squalor like many of the villages she'd traveled through in the kingdom of the Silverwoods had been. It wasn't a central location, but Lyon did still receive its fair share of traffic, and Emma had always enjoyed meeting new people when they inevitably stopped by to enjoy the local tavern. She enjoyed her ability to walk out amongst the people of the village without fear of being captured and executed for something she could not help, and enjoyed knowing that the people around her looked at her as an equal and judged her for her actions rather than the circumstances of her birth. In Lyon, Emma could do as she pleased, and though she had to work hard to support herself as an unmarried woman of twenty, she relished that she possessed the freedom to do so. Perhaps Lyon was not the most exciting of places to live, but it was her home. Not because she was born there, but because Emma had _chosen_ it to be so, and that meant the world to her.

But then last week had happened. The tavern had caught fire –no doubt the doing of some drunk fool kicking over a lantern—and burned straight to the ground. No tavern meant that there was no need for a tavern girl; and that was all well and good for the girls who just pranced back to the comfort and support of their families. Unfortunately for Emma, she didn't _have_ a family. So she couldn't stay. She'd taken the week to sell what belongings she couldn't carry with her and bid her farewells to her friends, and just that morning she'd set off from Lyon to its neighboring village, Bosque. Bosque was slightly larger than Lyon, and Emma hoped she'd be able to find work there and start over.

Again.

Which was why she was trudging alone down the road. The thrice-damned _dusty_ road.

Suddenly, the woman was snapped from her sullen musings by a flicker of movement in her peripherals. Warily, she flicked her gaze back and forth, blue-green eyes scanning the sparsely spaced trees on either side of her for possible threats even as she continued walking as if nothing were amiss. This particular road wasn't known for being dangerous, but Emma was a cautious creature by both nurture and nature, and her instincts were telling her that what she'd briefly seen didn't mean anything good. She could hear whoever –or whatever—it was moving around. Rustling bushes and snapping twigs. She could also hear the faint sounds of a carriage some ways ahead of her, though it wouldn't be in sight for some time with the way the road curved.

More movement in the trees on the opposite side of the road as where she'd seen the first indication of the disturbance drew Emma's attention, and she halted in her tracks as three raggedy-looking men stepped out onto the trail in front of her, dust rising at their feet as they blocked her passage forwards. Normally, Emma had very little fear of strangers, but she was quite leery of these men. They were unkempt and brutish in their mannerisms, and were all armed with well-maintained cutlasses that they held with a moderate degree of competency while leering at her in a decidedly unfriendly sort of way.

Emma was rather certain that the gods were just mocking her at this point.

She refused to show her fear though. Her heart may have been racing and her palms grown sweaty, but Emma had spent the first eighteen years of her life learning control in all its forms. If she showed these men her fear –her weakness—it would only encourage them. It was easier to _be_ commanding if you _looked_ commanding, she'd found.

So she lifted her chin and stood loosely, as if she were unafraid. "State your business, or let me pass," she said, staring the men down. They were clearly bandits. Unwashed and wild-looking. Emma was honestly surprised to see them, as thieves and bandits and other such filth that preyed on the weak were quite rare in the Summerlands. The Queen did not suffer criminals in her kingdom.

So it was just Emma's luck to have stumbled upon three of the few that were left, right?

Right.

"Ye'll want to come with us, gal," the dark-haired man that appeared to be the leader of the bunch suggested, leering at her beneath his scruffy beard and brandishing his cutlass threateningly in her direction. "Best get moving a'fore that carriage gets too close and we have to _make_ you come."

Emma scowled blackly. Normally, such men wouldn't bother with peasant girls, but Emma was well aware that she was often an exception. She was beautiful. She knew that, and it wasn't immodest of her to admit it. She was one of the few women alive that could honestly compete for the title of 'fairest in the land' with her golden hair and green eyes and defined features, and while these attributes served her well in her work as a tavern girl, it also brought her a great deal of unwanted attention at the most inconvenient times.

Like now, for instance.

But it always seemed that people forgot about her other qualities as soon as they saw her pretty face, as if being beautiful rendered her incapable of anything else worthwhile. It was an annoying facet of human nature, to be sure, but Emma was certainly grateful for it, because Emma was far more than just beautiful and she never hesitated to take advantage of people assuming her to be nothing but a lovely little doll. She was more capable than anyone had _ever_ given her credit for.

"I think not," Emma responded evenly, reaching to her side and drawing the long dagger belted at her waist. "The only place I will be going is to Bosque."

The three men exchanged amused, patronizing glances and scoffed. "A'ight lassie," the man who had spoken to her before spoke again. "It seems ye'll be coming with us _screaming_."

With that, the first man advanced upon her with purpose and Emma backed up quickly, wary of the gleaming blade directed at her heart. He laughed mockingly, and her eyes narrowed at him angrily before she kicked out without warning and connected the heel of her boot with his kneecap with an audible _snap_.

Howling in a mixture of shock and agony, the bandit dropped like a stone, and Emma wasted no time in darting forward and slitting his throat from ear to ear before he or his companions could recover from their surprise. The heart that pounded away beneath her ribcage no longer did so out of fear, but out of the bloodlust that rushed through her body like the most potent of drugs, sharpening her senses and kindling her ruthlessness. Emma wasn't one to show mercy to those that had wronged her, and these bandits would be no exception.

Allowing the first man's body to slump limply into the dust, even as he gurgled and weakly twitched out his last pathetic struggles for life, Emma straightened and flicked a line of blood from her dagger onto the ground at the feet of the remaining two bandits in a silent challenge. One man's face turned red, and the other white. Heedless of the sounds heralding the approach of the carriage beyond the bend in the road, the red man charged at her with a scream of rage. Emma didn't entirely blame him for that: after all, she _had_ just killed his friend. She did, however, blame him for attacking an opponent of unknown skill without a plan –or even the smallest modicum of finesse for that matter. It was stupid. Emma had known since she was six winters old that you _never_ attack an opponent unprepared, _especially_ if you didn't know what they were capable of.

And Emma? Emma was capable. She'd been well trained to fight, with knives and daggers and even a bow and arrow. The bandits may have had superior weapons, but they were sloppy, and Emma was faster. It had been a few months since she'd seen a real fight, but she wasn't concerned.

These men had wanted to harm her. And they would pay for it. Emma had already sacrificed enough to earn possession of her own body, and she _refused_ to let that effort go to waste now.

As the bandit drew within striking distance, Emma spun off to her right and lashed out with her blade, drawing a line of red on the man's upper arm. Growling, he turned and swung at her head, but she glanced the blow off of the flat of her dagger and used his momentary unbalance to duck in closer and slip the knife between his ribs. He gasped, and Emma tore herself away and out of his reach. The man would surely die soon, but she wouldn't take the chance that he would retaliate before he could no longer stand.

The third and final man was smarter than his predecessors. He sprang at her while Emma was still distracted by his dying partner, and she only just barely leaped out of the way of his strike. He didn't pursue her immediately after that, instead glaring at her hotly with flinty eyes and sizing her up. Assessing her threat level.

Finally, the approaching carriage rumbled into view around the bend in the road behind the bandit's back, giving Emma a full view of it. It was black, and very ornate, drawn by fine horses and accompanied by six mounted guards. It definitely belonged to royalty, though to which family Emma could not say.

And to think that this lonely dirt road was supposed to be a rarely traveled one! Emma was just meeting all sorts of fun people today.

The bandit was either too angry or too smart to let this newest arrival distract him though, which Emma grudgingly admired. Instead, he took advantage of her momentary distraction to take a stab at her. Luckily for Emma, this bandit –while smarter than the others—was still just as terrible at swordplay, and swung what should have been a deadly tool like a mere club. She deftly dodged him and took her own swipe at the man's arm, which he managed to avoid. Scowling, Emma twisted away from another swing of the sword and kicked out the back of the bandit's knee. He staggered, but didn't fall until she jabbed her elbow at his face, breaking his nose in a font of blood that she swiftly added to by stabbing the man in the throat. He gurgled when she removed the blade, and slumped down onto the crimson road, lifeless.

Emma was mildly satisfied to note that whetting the earth with blood had done nicely to cut down on the dust.

Her ordeal wasn't over yet though. The carriage and accompanying guards had come into view well in time for them to see her fight and win against the bandit, and four of the guards had drawn their swords and spurred their mounts to surround her menacingly. Emma slipped her dagger back into her belt and copied her self-assured pose from earlier, though she was far more nervous this time. Handling three unskilled ruffians was one thing, but six mounted royal guards plus whomever was in the carriage? Emma didn't like her odds if they decided to pick a fight.

The guards surrounding her didn't move though, and merely waited as the carriage approached. Emma wished she could see past their visors and to their faces. Moreover, she wished that the carriage or guards were bearing a crest so she'd know whom she was dealing with. Though there was only one ruler of the Summerlands, it wasn't uncommon for royals of the different kingdoms to pay visits to their counterparts, and there were some royals that Emma was _very_ keen to avoid.

Not that she _could_, at this point. But still.

Finally, the carriage drew to a halt on the road outside Emma's circle of guards, and she blinked furiously to clear her eyes from the thrice-damned dust it had drawn in its wake. The carriage itself was beautiful up close. Sleek and black with silver trimmings and encrusted with decorative carvings, it was drawn by a team of four elegant ebony horses with tack to match. Emma didn't have time to admire it further though, as the door almost immediately swung open, revealing a single occupant.

It was a woman, dressed in a resplendent red velvet gown of the likes only royalty could afford, peppered with intricate layers of black lace and glittering gems. As she stepped outside and turned to face her, Emma noted that not only were her clothes magnificent, the woman herself was impossibly more so. Emma had seen more than her fair share of beautiful women in her twenty years of life, but _this_ woman was without a doubt the most heartbreakingly beautiful person Emma had ever encountered. She held herself with poise. Dangerous poise. Like a true Queen.

Emma knew _exactly _who this woman was, though she was shocked at just how untouched she was by time. This vision was the monarch of the Summerlands –the Evil Queen Regina herself.

But Emma wasn't afraid, and she intentionally positioned her body as to seem unruffled by the situation even as she offered the royal a deep curtsey. She doubted the Queen would harm her, so long as she remained polite. Despite the fact that the Queen wore a nearly flawless mask of haughty indifference on her beautiful features, Emma was good at reading people, and she knew intrigue when she saw it.

She supposed that if one wanted positive attention from the Evil Queen, slaughtering a small group of bandits in the middle of a road with only a dagger and some dazzling good looks would be one way to do it.

Yes, the gods were most definitely mocking her today.

"And what have we here?" the Queen finally spoke, arching a graceful eyebrow as she surveyed the scene. Three dead bandits strewn out across a lonely road, killed with obvious skill by a blood-spattered peasant girl that had yet to cower in fear at her presence.

Emma suppressed a shiver at the shockingly rich timbre of her voice. The Queen's voice reminded her of a combination of the chocolate that the traders used to bring in for the winter in her childhood home and the sharpness of the mint leaves that grew wild in the forests.

"These gentlemen offered me their company this fine morning, Your Majesty," Emma responded quickly, never looking away from the Queen's face. She tilted her head slightly to the side and smiled sweetly up at her. "I declined their invitation."

For a moment, all was silent as this response was considered. Then, the air was rent by the Queen's dark chuckle. "My, you _are_ a precocious creature, girl," she observed, cold eyes glinting in what Emma chose to interpret as amusement. "Why do you venture to Bosque?"

"Until quite recently, I made my home in Lyon, Your Majesty" Emma answered honestly, feeling a strange thrill at interacting with someone of the upper class again after two years had passed since the last time she had done so. "I was a tavern girl, but the tavern burned down last week, and I was hoping to find work in Bosque instead." The Queen scrutinized her closely, as if she were some unusual bug she'd located in the palace gardens. Emma didn't squirm though. Though she knew the Evil Queen to be a dangerous woman… she really wasn't afraid. Only strangely excited. Further proof of her insanity, she was sure.

"Have you family there, girl? A husband?" came the inquiry.

Emma couldn't stop herself from scowling slightly before she carefully assumed an expression of neutrality. "I have no family, nor lover, Your Majesty," she retorted as monotone as she could manage.

This time, the Queen allowed the intrigue to show plainly upon her face, and she stepped forwards into the circle of silent guards, pacing around the spot where Emma stood like a tiger sizing up its next meal, the hem of her lovely dress swishing behind her at every turn. "You fight well, for an orphaned, unmarried tavern girl," she observed, completing her circle and stopping directly in front of her. She reached out with cold, pale fingers and gripped Emma's chin, tilting her head from side to side as she scrutinized her face closely. Emma allowed her to touch her, and kept her expression carefully neutral. "A pretty thing too. Your hair… did you plait it yourself?"

Emma almost cringed at this new closeness, as the Queen had leaned in ever further to speak, but managed to keep herself in check. The Queen was a powerful presence. More so than anyone else she'd met, if she were being completely honest. Though she still wasn't afraid, per say, she wasn't sure what the woman's game was, and _that_ made her nervous.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," she murmured, jaw still captured in the Queen's firm grip. "And yes, I plaited my hair myself. I am afraid I'm rather vain about it," came the admittance. Emma twisted her lips into a wry smile at the thought. It was true. The intricate, interlocking series of braids that twisted her locks into a manageable bun on the back of her head had taken at least thirty minutes to complete, but Emma had a minor obsession with her hair. Ever since she'd arrived in the Summerlands and been exposed to regular sunlight, it had lightened from a dirty blonde color to a burnished gold, and Emma was unabashedly proud of it. She'd always loved having her hair styled or even styling the hair of others, but now she did it just to show off.

Though the Queen did not laugh or smile at the comment, her full red lips twitched ever so slightly, which Emma counted as a victory. "Can you mend clothes?" the brunette asked instead.

"Well enough," Emma replied, suddenly getting an inkling as to where this was going. If the Queen was considering what she thought she was considering, Emma applauded Fate for its sense of irony.

"The more important question—" the Queen purred, finally releasing Emma's chin but remaining otherwise motionless (and well into Emma's personal space) "—is whether or not you can take orders. Tell me, girl, can you do that?"

If it were anyone else asking that question, Emma would have said 'no' in a heartbeat. But… this woman. This Evil Queen who was nothing like Emma had expected her to be, but in all the most dangerous and delicious ways… Emma was impressed. Really, she'd seen nothing. She'd never met Queen Regina before in her life, though she'd heard plenty of stories. Emma knew next to nothing about her beyond the stories told to frighten children in the Silverwoods, in all actuality. But there was _something_ about her that just seemed to _sing_ to a place deep inside herself that she didn't know could even listen. They'd literally just met mere moments ago, but… Emma respected her.

And Emma never respected _anyone_.

"Yes," she finally decided aloud after a long moment of deliberation during which she had stared at the Queen intently, trying to deduce that special something that made her answer the way she did. "I think that could be arranged, Your Majesty."

The Queen smirked. "Then it seems you have work once again, girl," she announced, sweeping back towards her carriage in a flourish of velvet and lace before pausing and beckoning Emma forwards. "Come along. You'll ride with me for today. It is a long ride to the palace, and Matron Josie will have to prepare the handmaiden's quarters for you."

And so Emma, bemused beyond all reason at this sudden turn of events, obeyed and followed after the Evil Queen. If only Mother could see her now!

At least in the carriage there would be no dust.


	2. Chapter 2: Regina

**A/N: I'm so glad that I received such a favorable reaction to the first chapter! Normally I wouldn't update nearly so soon, but I'm celebrating a bit, and I want the ball rolling. So without further ado, here's the next installment!**

**As you'll notice, this chapter is set before the first. Since the actual show is so big on utilizing flashbacks, I'm doing my best to imitate that. There will be an ongoing timeline in the present (any unspecified chapter) accompanied by explanation/flashback chapters which will be indicated at the start for your convenience.**

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The Handmaiden's Philosophy  
Chapter Two

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_Four days ago..._

_Regina's POV_

Regina had always been an early riser. Be it because of her own natural inclinations or at her mother's insistence (she'd become rather soporific during her teenaged years) she had awoken with the sun to watch it crest the horizon each morning for as long as she could remember. She liked mornings. She liked the cool air and the quiet and the fresh quality to the filtering light of dawn that just wasn't there at any other part of the day. For a long while, viewing the sunrise was one of the few joys she was able to experience at all.

If she was being honest with herself, watching the sunrise was one of her very few joys even now.

Regina's thoughts were rather heavy this morning. She got this way, sometimes. She grew quiet and introspective, and spent long hours on her balcony or wandering the gardens just… thinking. It was a rare occasion that she called for her morning meal on the balcony, but Regina was well aware that her doing so was something of an unspoken signal to the castle's servants that she wasn't in the most forgiving of moods.

Today was one of those days, and as was her custom, Regina was lounged gracefully upon a divan on her balcony, still dressed in her nightclothes and sipping on tea with lemon. She supposed such sloth wasn't a Queenly thing to indulge in, but rationalized that so long as she was Queen, _everything_ she did was Queenly. It was a privilege that she had more than earned, she thought.

The Evil Queen. That's what they called her, she mused as she gazed out upon the castle grounds, eyes dark even in the pale morning light. Well, those who lived in the Silverwoods did anyways, she amended. Her own subjects –citizens of the Summerlands—wouldn't dare to name her as such. And to be fair, they had little reason to regardless. Regina was, above all, a competent Queen. She had little to thank her mother for, but for that. Still, regardless of the reason, she was glad to have for the most part escaped the moniker in her own kingdom, at the very least. It wasn't really who she was anymore. There was a time in her life –a dark, and angry time—where hearing the peasants cry out that name in fear sent a thrill through her entire being. She _liked_ the fear. Relished in it. Regina had spent _so_ much of her life just being afraid, _all the time_, and to think that she had graduated from being such a pathetic creature into someone powerful and awe-inspiring was nothing short of intoxicating to her. It was a feeling that Regina had wanted to drown in, and she wrapped herself in that same unholy fury like the most comforting of blankets, and had brought the fire that had always burned so painfully inside to the outside to devastating effect.

The Evil Queen. She was free. It never hurt less, but seeing the hurt inside of her reflected on the faces of other people had at least made her feel less alone.

But then there was Snow White. Oh, how Regina _hated_ Snow White. The girl that had everything, and yet still wanted more; who destroyed everything she touched with that _sickeningly sweet_ smile on her face, believing all the while that she was _good _and just and fair. Regina wanted to scratch her eyes out.

Unfortunately, Snow had her moments of not _complete_ idiocy, and for a while, she had come close to actually _winning_ their fight.

But Regina didn't lose. Not to _her_, anyways. Never again.

For a while, she'd thought that Rumplestiltskin's Dark Curse was the answer to all her problems. It would give her a new beginning, and everyone else an unhappy ending. It was… perfect.

Except for the fact that to enact it, Regina would have been forced to sacrifice her own father: the thing she loved most. She needed to take his heart from his chest and crush it to dust between her fingers. She'd come _so_ close to doing it, too. She'd plunged her hand into the man's frail chest and held the pulsating red organ in her hands… but she just hadn't been able to bring herself to squeeze.

Regina had thought herself weak in that moment, as she stared into her father's face, unable to kill him even if the sacrifice could have _finally_ made her happy.

That night, Regina had done quite a bit of soul-searching and pondering, staying up long after the candle at her bedside had spluttered out.

What was she doing? What did she _want_? Mother had always taught her that power was the one thing that could make her happy. So she'd become powerful. But Regina _wasn't_ happy. That was why casting the Dark Curse was so important. But… would the curse make her happy, really? Banishing everyone to a world without magic, without their memories, while she, alone, remained? Untouched by time, but according to Maleficent, also untouched by love? Maleficent was a unicorn-besotted fool, but Regina reluctantly admitted that she was also a talented magic-user, and she was inclined to believe the blonde when she said that while the Curse would bring her many things, happiness wasn't one of them.

If that was the case, she'd then pondered, what _would_ make her happy?

It seemed to Regina that everyone always had a different opinion on what would bring her happiness. Her mother had said power brought happiness. Tinkerbell, True Love. Rumplestiltskin advocated the Dark Curse, and Snow White had always been annoyingly fixated on family. None of these things seemed to have the potential to make Regina happy, however, so she was rather at a loss as to what to do.

In the end, she had settled upon simply _being better_ than those who would presume to know her heart.

She was the Evil Queen Regina, and she would show _everyone_ –down to the last peasant—that she was more than a silly girl in love with a stable boy. More than a trinket to decorate an old man's arm and warm his bed. More than a heartless dictator. More than a malevolent witch. She was a Queen, and she would reign as such with such success that even _Snow White_ would be forced to concede that Regina was right. That Regina was _better_.

Because it wouldn't matter if Snow died. It wouldn't matter if she lost her memory. Snow White wasn't worth the effort it would take to kill her, and Regina wanted her to live, _knowing_ that. It would be so much more satisfying than letting the little chit find peace in death.

So instead of casting the Dark Curse, Regina had taken fate into her own hands, and gone to see Snow White and Prince Charming with an offer. Give Regina the Summerlands to rule as her own without interference or acts of war, and Regina would drop her vendetta against the couple and their kingdom, the Silverwoods. She would also refrain from casting the Dark Curse or attacking with her still-considerable army.

In the end, Snow White and Prince Charming had little choice. They had the child they were expecting to think about, not to mention a kingdom to rule with little to no experience between them. They couldn't afford to deal with Regina. The Summerlands was the smaller of the two kingdoms that had been under Leopold's –and subsequently, the Evil Queen's—rule anyways, and Snow had never really cared for it on the few occasions she'd visited. It was a fair deal, all things considered.

And so Snow and Charming became the rulers of the Silverwoods, and Regina the sovereign of the Summerlands, a cease-fire called between them. That was nearly twenty years ago, and since then, an uneasy peace had existed between the two kingdoms. Generally, the citizens of each tended to steer clear of each other, as did the respective royalty.

Because during that time, Regina had indeed proved herself to be an excellent ruler, despite her history of violence against those who dared to stand against her. The Summerlands flourished under her guidance. She was not the most conventional of rulers, being somewhat progressive in policy by necessity as a lone female monarch, but she was still beloved by her subjects despite her infamous lack of mercy towards criminals. The Silverwoods, on the other hand, did not fare nearly so well. As a woman –and a sickeningly naïve one at that—Snow White had never been trained to rule as a child. She had grown up with the expectation to marry a Prince, who would have, as King, made the executive decisions in her stead whilst Snow sat at his side looking pretty and pushing out heirs. Unfortunately for her, the Prince she had married was no Prince at all, and was even less prepared for the role than she. Regina could admit that, under such circumstances, the pair had done moderately well for themselves. Still, the reality was that Leopold had been a very traditional man with very traditional habits and taste, who had ruled in a time of prosperity and peace. It was all well and good for Snow to emulate him, but the Silverwoods was still suffering the aftereffects of the quasi-anarchy that had descended with the dispute over the throne between the widowed Queen and erstwhile Princess. An exceptional leader was needed to heal the country of the damage, and Snow White just wasn't that leader. In the end, the country had fallen into such financial disaster that the royal couple had been forced to promising the hand of their daughter, Princess Emmaline, to the crowned Prince of the Southern Isles, allying their kingdoms. Regina felt more than a little smug at their misfortune, of course, given the prosperous state of her own kingdom, but she'd still felt bad for the young princess. The girl had been only four years old at the time her future had been decided for her, and Regina of all people was familiar with the horrors of arranged marriage. There was no worse feeling in the world than that of being sold like a prize heifer.

Even so, she'd been more than a little floored when, fourteen years later, Princess Emmaline had vanished without a trace only a week before she was due to be wed. Snow and James had scoured their land in search of her, but Emmaline had never been found. Even now, two years after the fact, no body had been recovered nor ransom note delivered. The Silverwoods' alliance with the Southern Isles had been dissolved, and it was the opinion of most that the Princess was dead.

Regina rather thought she wasn't. She knew from personal experience how difficult it was to kill the members of that family. Though she knew not where Emmaline might be hiding, she strongly suspected that the girl would return to her family one day in an explosion of rainbows and happiness and true love and all manner of other Snow White-endorsed sappiness, and all would be well and forgiven.

She really didn't care either way. Princess Emmaline was truly only significant in her absence. Politically, her only use had been to tie the Silverwoods to the Southern Isles. It was Leopold II, Emmaline's younger brother, who would be the next ruler of their country.

Shaking her head to clear it of such reminiscing, Regina stood from her lounger and moved back into her chambers, teacup still in hand. She _must_ be getting old, she thought to herself amusedly, if she was spending so much time thinking of days long past. Not that it showed. She'd spelled herself to stop aging quite some time ago, and was perfectly preserved in her prime. One of the many perks of being a magic-user, as dear, foolish Maleficent would say.

At the thought of her friend, Regina paused before her vanity and considered that she'd not seen her for quite some time. The sorceress's company would be a pleasant diversion from her thoughts. Immediately, the Queen decided that she would take a trip to Maleficent's castle as soon as possible. Tomorrow, perhaps. Thus decided, Regina drained the last of her tea and pulled the silk cord by the wall to call for her handmaiden. It was well passed time that she got dressed for the day.

"The navy blue a-line, girl," she barked out as soon as her handmaiden –a cowering little fool with mousy features called Eloise—rushed through the servant's entrance.

Stammering out her acknowledgement of the order, Eloise scrambled to Regina's closet to collect the requested garment. Seating herself at her vanity, the Queen didn't bother suppressing the urge to roll her eyes. Technically speaking, she had no need for a handmaiden. Unlike other members of the upper class, she was perfectly capable of dressing and styling her hair on her own with magic. Certainly some days doing so would be far less bothersome than tolerating the bumbling antics of the little fools brought in to serve her. Cowards, the lot of them. Regina cycled through handmaidens faster than any other category of servant in the entire castle, most unable to deal with her volatile temper and other assorted mood swings for more than a few weeks at most. But Regina never stopped using handmaidens anyways.

Though she would never admit it out loud, she needed the human interaction. After the death of her father some years ago in his sleep, literally no one had touched Regina in a gentle way aside from the handmaidens and the occasional lover that she used and summarily discarded. Being Queen was a very lonely task, and though Regina hated little fools such as Eloise and many of her predecessors, their interactions were the closest things to physical comfort she had left. And as much as she hated it, the truth was that even Evil Queens needed something as simple as nonaggressive human touch on occasion. Some would say that Regina had everything, but it was this simple thing that she secretly craved and rarely indulged in.

Poor Eloise was a particularly pitiful specimen of the serving class, however. She trembled atrociously in Regina's presence, fumbling with the hooks and laces in the Queen's intricate gowns and –even worse—pulling her hair when she styled it.

Regina _hated _that. Mother had pulled her hair as a child. Leopold had pulled her hair as he put his disgusting hands on her body. Snow had pulled her hair when she wanted to practice braids.

So it was a perfectly reasonable response, Regina thought to herself, for her to toss a fireball over Eloise's head when the insipid girl pulled her hair. This, of course, had sent the pathetic thing into complete hysterics, and Eloise had fled the royal chambers after the initial fireball was followed by a verbal tongue-lashing worthy of... well, a Queen.

With an exasperated sigh, Regina snapped her fingers and finished up her hair herself. It was never the same, done with magic, as it was done by hand, but it would have to do. She made a mental note to acquire yet another handmaiden after her trip to visit Maleficent.

Preferably one with a little less bumbling idiocy, this time.


	3. Chapter 3: Regina

**A/N: Wow, I got such a positive response to chapter two! It made my crappy week into a good week. So as a reward, another early update. :)**

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The Handmaiden's Philosophy  
Chapter Three

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_Regina POV..._

Traveling by carriage was never the most comfortable of experiences. If at all possible, Regina preferred to transport herself by magic, or simply ride the horse itself. Both of these options were impractical for longer journeys however, such as the distance between her own castle and Maleficent's. Hence her current position within the carriage on her return trip from Maleficent's lair. Regina's personal carriage was a glowing example of the utmost luxury, and was very comfortable so far as carriages went. (Only the best for the Queen, after all.) So she really couldn't complain of discomfort. Still, such trips were _boring_, quite frankly. One could only take so much inactivity at one time without slowly going insane. It galled her that reading –what she would normally choose to do to entertain herself when confined to a small space—made her motion sick, thus leaving her without distraction during most journeys.

But the young woman seated across from her now made a wonderful distraction indeed.

Regina really wasn't sure what had possessed her to pick up the blonde tavern girl for use as her handmaiden. Lately, she had taken to simply allowing her head house matron, Josie, to pick the latest sacrifice to her temper. It had been quite some time since she had personally selected a servant, so what she'd done today was unusual. And truly, most people wouldn't choose someone that they had witnessed slaughter three grown men without so much as batting an eye, to carry out such intimate tasks.

Of course, Regina was _far_ from most people. If she thought about it, it really was quite ironic that the Evil Queen was so drawn to a blood-spattered peasant with a self-admitted flaw of vanity.

And Regina was indeed drawn to this girl. She couldn't quite place why. Perhaps it was the fire she'd displayed as she'd defended herself so skillfully from the vagrants on the road. Perhaps it was the utter lack of fear that she'd displayed –and continued to display—towards her person, whilst still maintaining an air of proper respect when addressing her. Perhaps it was even her physical appeal –for Regina was a great admirer of human beauty regardless of gender, and the tavern girl was nothing if not incredibly beautiful. She held herself with a proud sort of posture that Regina had rarely seen outside of nobles trained into such, and her blue-green eyes held a spark of some nameless thing that made excitement curl tightly in Regina's belly.

Yes, the blonde was a rare find indeed. It would be interesting to see how she fared in palace life.

For the first few minutes of their resumed journey, both Queen and servant maintained a surprisingly comfortable silence. Regina sat back against the padded seats of the carriage an unashamedly examined her newest acquisition, eyes roaming freely over her face and body. For her part, the girl seemed unconcerned with this purposefully discomfiting behavior, and simply returned her gaze evenly, her eyes kept respectfully on her face. Regina was honestly baffled by this response. Regardless of whether or not the word Evil was added to her title, she was still a Queen, and any peasant worth his breath should be awed and fearful of her rank alone. This intimidation factor combined with such blatant attention should be enough to make any normal tavern girl highly uncomfortable.

But not this one. Discomfort seemed to roll off of her harmlessly, like water over the back of a duck.

Regina was fascinated.

"What is your name, girl?" she finally spoke, eyebrows raised imperiously as she lowered her voice to its most velvety texture, determined to shatter her newest servant's calm. It was like a delightful game: one that she suspected the girl would be adept at playing. Sure enough, the girl reacted only minutely to the overtly seductive tone, eyes darkening slightly as a faint shiver ran through her body. If Regina hadn't been studying her so intently, she knew she would have missed it. As it was, it was gratifying to know that the girl wasn't completely immovable. Just resilient enough to be fun.

"I am called Emma, Your Majesty," the blonde answered, refolding her hands in her lap. She sat upon the carriage seat as if she herself were royalty, not just Regina. Her posture was impeccable, and her countenance serene. Her eyes flickered with what Regina thought to be amusement though, as the only break in her façade, and the Queen rather thought that Emma was aware that she was deliberately trying to evoke a response from her, and found that fact funny.

It was both galling and entertaining all at once.

Regina chose to simply nod her head in acknowledgement of the answer, filing away Emma's name for future reference. Not that she would ever use it to address the woman, but it was still nice to know. It was a nice name, really. Simple and elegant, and nothing pretentious or ridiculous. For what it was worth, Regina approved. (And as Queen, her approval was worth quite a bit.)

It took another four hours for them to reach the castle. They spent the ride in silence, each staring out a different window at the passing trees while Regina pretended not to notice Emma watching her with interest out of the corners of her eyes.

Regina expected as such. She knew she was beautiful. What she did not expect was Emma's reaction to the castle itself. Or rather, the lack thereof.

The blonde looked upon the magnificent structure with appreciative eyes, but not with the jaw-dropping awe that Regina would have expected of someone of her station. It was odd. Regina considered that perhaps Emma had lived near or in the castle in her youth, and was thus accustomed to the sight, but that didn't seem quite right. Emma looked upon the Summerlands' palace with fresh eyes. Of course, Regina knew that it was entirely possible she was misreading the blonde entirely. She was an enigma, to be certain, and hadn't reacted to anything the way she should have since the moment Regina had laid eyes upon her, which was honestly part of the draw.

Slightly frustrated, Regina chastised herself for spending so much time obsessing over a simple tavern girl turned handmaiden. Emma, while strange, was nothing. Just another peasant. Regina was a Queen. She _really_ needed a hobby if she was devoting so much thought to the inner workings of someone of Emma's station.

Perhaps she ought to return to terrorizing helpless villagers with flagrant displays of power? Though such actions were counterproductive to keeping her subjects whole and hale unfortunately, which was the goal when trying to prove her superiority as a ruler to the world at large. Pity. It had always been somewhat cathartic in her days of hunting Snow White.

The carriage wheels rattled loudly over a road that was now cobbled, even over the sharp claps of the horses' hooves on the stones. Regina didn't bother to suppress the tiny smile that curled at the edges of her painted lips at the familiar sights and smells of her home as the carriage flanked by her guards drew into the main courtyard. Servants and simple citizens alike called out greetings from the roadside and windows, even under the hot afternoon sun. Though rightly feared, Regina enjoyed a certain amount of adoration from her subjects as well; genuine gratitude borne through Regina's fierce protection and respect of even the lowest among them, despite her fearful reputation. She'd never enjoyed such before the Treaty, but Regina found she rather enjoyed it most days.

Finally, the carriage halted, and Regina exited gracefully as soon as a nearby footman ran to open the door for her, nodding regally in thanks to her dismounting guards for their service. The soft clack of worn boots behind her told her that Emma had exited their rolling prison of the past few hours as well, though Regina did not deign to turn towards her. Instead, she turned to the footman and gestured in the blonde's general direction with an errant hand.

"Take the girl to Matron Josie," she instructed briskly, ignoring the boy's wide eyes at being addressed directly by his Queen. "She's the new handmaiden. See to it that she's settled in the servant's wing and is provided appropriate dress."

"Y-yes Your Majesty," the footman stammered, rushing at Emma and hustling her towards the main keep.

Emma just looked amused.

Sighing, Regina turned on heel and vanished in a swirl of violet smoke, reemerging in her own quarters. They were rather dark –as was the entire building, having been hewn of the dark stone from the nearby quarries—but luxurious just the same. She'd strewn the walls with the finest Agrabahn and Tiaxan silks of every color and pattern, and pulled the draperies away from the many windows with a lazy flick of her hand to allow the sunlight to stream into the space. Content with her environment, Regina swept over to the oak vanity and pulled on the silk cord to summon a servant.

Within minutes, a tall, willowy brunette emerged to attend to her. This was Mabel, the chambermaid. During those times when Regina's current handmaiden had been sent away and another had not yet been found, it was Mabel that picked up the slack and attended the Queen personally. She wasn't particularly skilled in the art of preparing a Queen for her court, but Regina honestly liked Mabel in spite of this. She was a quiet woman who rarely spoke, but was generally insightful and helpful when she chose to do so. At twenty-nine years of age, she was rather old for a personal servant, but she remained unmarried and therefore free of other obligation, and continued to serve her Queen well.

"Welcome back, Your Majesty," the brunette greeted her softly, dropping into a deep curtsey. "Did you fare well on your journey?"

Regina smirked, and chose to indulge Mabel with her attempt at small talk. "I did," she responded lightly, beckoning the woman forward to remove her intricate gown. "Though I should like to wash away the dust of the road. Draw a bath for me."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Mabel agreed. She finished untangling Regina from her gown in silence, leaving the Queen in just her chemise before sweeping away to work the water pump in the adjoining bathroom. Regina had had the pump installed to save her servants the trouble of hauling buckets of water up the stairs, considering that she could easily heat the water with magic.

Let it not be said that she was not a merciful Queen.

Neither Regina nor Mabel spoke until the Queen had finished bathing and the servant had redressed her in a simpler, more comfortable dress made of black silk. "Mabel," Regina stated neutrally. "I've brought a new serving girl with me, to take a place as my handmaiden. Emma. She's with Matron Josie at the moment, but I wish for you to send her to me tomorrow morning when I ring. Do not bother to instruct her on the specifics of her duties beforehand."

"My Queen?" Mabel questioned, clearly confused.

Regina just smiled wickedly. "I wish to see how well she comports herself." Poor Mabel probably thought that Emma had done something quite egregious to be set up to fail so, but while Regina did not offer further explanation to the silent chambermaid, she inwardly admitted that she very much wanted to see Emma rattled. Just once. And this was a good way to achieve that goal, she thought.

Come morning though, Regina was surprised.

She supposed that she would have to become resigned to such surprises, if Emma were to stay.

She'd slept well that evening, and rose with the sun like always. Like she'd done for years. Most days fell into a sort of uniform monotony for Regina now, so she didn't even attempt to suppress her inner glee at finding a new game when she rang for her new handmaiden. Emma. The girl who should have been afraid, but wasn't. At most, the blonde would have been shown her quarters, the way to Regina's suite, told how to dress, and allowed a chance to clean herself up. (Because Regina could not abide by unwashed servants.) Emma was a tavern girl. Regina wanted to see her out of her element _so_ badly.

But Emma had arrived quickly, and calmly. She wore the simple short-sleeved brown summer dress that all the servants wore, with a pale apron tied neatly around her waist and brown summer slipper shoes peeking out from beneath its hem. Her beautiful golden hair had been pulled back in the simple, utilitarian bun that was also uniform amongst Regina's female servants, but the Queen could see that a single small braid was twined within what should have been smooth gold in a tiny act of rebellious individuality.

Regina almost smiled at the sight of it. Vanity, indeed. Emma apparently couldn't resist a small token of it, even when conforming to her new role.

"Good morrow, Your Majesty," Emma greeted her with a small smile and a small (but not small enough to quite count as impolite) curtsey. She looked better, Regina decided, when she wasn't covered in dust and blood. "How may I serve you this morning?"

Regina stood from where she'd seated herself on the cushioned divan. "I've court today. I'll wear the mermaid cut black satin with the velvet trim and scoop neckline," she informed her blithely and gestured absently towards her closet, well aware that most tavern girls were unfamiliar with such terminology. (After all, to those of her class, a dress was a dress; cut for practicality and spun from wool.) She wondered how long it would take Emma to admit that she couldn't find the right dress, or if she would simply emerge with the wrong one.

It was a struggle for Regina not to outwardly react when Emma simply walked into the closet and emerged moments later with the exact garment that had been requested, completely unruffled by the task. Baffled and annoyed as she was at this inexplicable proficiency, Regina chose not to comment and simply allowed Emma to undress her and begin lacing her up into her chosen garment for the day, which she did without further prompting.

At first, Regina considered that Mabel had –however unlikely it was—disobeyed her instructions and told the newest chambermaid exactly how to comport herself in her presence. This did not explain the skill with which Emma completed her task, however. As a Queen, Regina's clothes were excessively complicated: riddled with laces to pull taught and hooks with loops and tiny buttons between multiple layers of heavy fabric, all of which needed to be attached just so, so that the dress hung properly over Regina's frame and none of the stiff supports or textured lace sat unpleasantly on her skin. Dressing royalty was, quite literally, an art. Regina had expected confusion and fumbling from Emma. It was incredibly rare for her to acquire a handmaiden that was even passingly familiar with such garments, and it quite often took a few days for them to learn how to dress their Queen properly. Even Mabel still struggled with dressing her. Regina was quite honestly stunned that Emma, the tavern girl, did so without instruction aside from a few queries on how tightly Regina preferred different sections of the dress to be laced.

Not that Regina would ever admit the positive reaction out loud, of course. It wouldn't do for the already cheeky creature to get a big head, after all. When Emma finished, Regina wordlessly sank down onto the stool before her vanity and produced a hairbrush to rest in her hand with a twist of her wrist and a spiral of purple smoke, which she handed back to the blonde behind her.

"How do you wish your hair styled for court today, Your Majesty?" Emma inquired as she accepted the brush with a frustratingly serene smile directed towards their images in the mirror where Regina watched her carefully, as if her reflection would suddenly spill her secrets.

Regina pursed her lips. This morning had been a test for Emma, and the woman was… passing. One does not simply _pass_ a test set by the Evil Queen. Quite frankly, Regina wasn't sure how she felt about this development. "Put it up," she decided. "Formal, but not uncomfortable." She was curious. Very curious. She knew from having seen the intricate style applied to Emma's own hair the day before that the blonde was somewhat skilled in the art. How far that skill extended, Regina was still uncertain of, and she very much wanted to see how Emma would choose to interpret her instructions. She could always do her hair herself with her magic if it turned out too horribly, she reasoned.

And Emma just nodded her head and reached for Regina's long, dark tresses, running her fingers through the strands to get a feel for the texture and humming in approval at its heath and thickness. Regina watched on with narrowed eyes. Though Emma did technically have permission to touch the Queen, Regina still wanted to bristle at the entirely unconcerned way in which she did so. She wasn't used to being touched without a certain reverence –or more often, trepidation—neither of which Emma displayed. She wasn't afraid to run her fingers through Regina's hair, nor did she jump and stutter out apologies when her hands accidentally brushed up against the skin of Regina's neck or shoulders. It was mildly infuriating. Still, the touch was gentle and professional, and Regina forced herself to let it be, for now. Emma took great care in gently easing the tangles out of every inch of her hair, starting at the ends and gradually working her way up towards her scalp until she was running the brush down her back in long, smooth strokes. Little by little, the tension in Regina's shoulders eased with the knowledge that Emma was not handling her hair roughly, even when she abandoned the steady rhythm of the brushing and graduated to twisting and pinning the strands up and away from her neck.

The entire time, Regina stared unmoving at the blonde in the mirror (who pretended not to notice) and at the style that was taking shape. It wasn't awful, she admitted to herself. Curls twisted into being by Emma's talented fingers had joined a great coiled spiral at the back of her head, circling about like a pit of black snakes sweeping from the part of her hair and down and around the nape of her neck. It was well done, and none of the pins taken from the tray on Regina's vanity and applied to her hair to maintain its shape dug into the soft skin of her scalp, with the even distribution of weight that Emma had somehow achieved. It was not her usual style perhaps, but then again, Emma would have no idea what her usual style was regardless, and had done well with the purposefully vague instructions Regina had given her.

Somewhat unsettled with her inability to criticize her work, Regina instead chose to focus on the only other imperfection she could. "Pray tell why you've bound your wrists in those filthy bandages," she commented, referring to the somewhat bulky white linens that were tucked neatly around the blonde's wrists, covering about three inches of skin at the join of her wrist and forearms. They stood out quite clearly with the short sleeves of the summer servant dress.

This, at last, earned Regina a reaction outside of that infuriating calm. Emma's hands paused momentarily in their movements and she cringed ever so slightly, as if the thought of the linens brought her pain. She recovered quickly though, the only indication of her continued upset being a shaky exhale of breath and a new tightness in the skin around her blue-green eyes.

"I apologize, Your Majesty," Emma said extremely softly. Were the woman not so physically close to her, the Queen doubted that she would have been able to hear her without straining. "I wear the bandages to cover some rather unsightly scars. They make most people uncomfortable, and I would rather avoid discussing them with the other servants."

Not having expected this answer, Regina permitted her eyebrows to crawl up her forehead in a well-earned display of bemusement. They must be truly gruesome scars indeed, she theorized, to be so large and apparently disturbing. It was especially troubling that the old injuries were on both wrists. Perhaps the girl had been incorrectly shackled at some point in her life? Even then, that didn't seem quite right. Even poorly applied shackles rarely left such scars, and Emma would have been forced to wear them for an impractically long amount of time to achieve such damage.

Emma was rapidly becoming Regina's favorite puzzle.

"How would a tavern girl such as your self acquire such injuries?" she questioned bluntly. Emma may have preferred not to discuss the topic with the other servants, but Regina was her Queen.

Emma just smiled tightly. "My mother gave them to me," she answered with equal bluntness.

Regina's heart grew cold with remembered pain at those words, and she did not speak for the remainder of their time together, waiting until the handmaiden had completed polishing Regina's exterior before dismissing her with a single, curt nod towards the door. Emma certainly was proving to be an interesting puzzle, but Regina for the first time wondered how wise it was for her to try and solve her.


	4. Chapter 4: Emma

**A/N: Happy Wednesday, everyone! It's the time of week when you've still got halfway to go until the weekend, so I thought I'd cheer you up with an update. Several people were curious about the scars Emma mentioned last chapter, and while this isn't a full explanation, it'll answer a few questions for you. (Because they're important, plot-wise.)**

**Enjoy!**

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The Handmaiden's Philosophy  
Chapter Four

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_Two years ago..._

_Emma's POV_

Tugging the cowl of her black traveling cloak more securely over her features, Emma peered cautiously around the corner of the narrow servant's passage, ears sharp for any sounds of human activity. It was a calculated risk to take this route. It was more likely that she'd encounter someone else along this corridor as opposed to the grander one used by the nobility, but it was far less suspicious to find a hooded figure hurrying along the servant's route on a cold night than it was to find the same so close to where the royal family slept. She'd be questioned for certain if she were caught then.

And she couldn't have that.

Emma needed to get away. Far away. She needed to leave, and never return to this place. And she would. Tonight. Failure was an option that she refused to contemplate.

As she walked, Emma hunched her shoulders slightly and introduced a shuffling quality to her normally poised gait. She walked like a royal, she knew, and that just wouldn't do for tonight. In just over a week, she was to wed Prince Damian. No matter how much she had begged and pleaded with her parents to halt the engagement, she had come to accept that they just weren't interested in her opinion when it came to the person she was fated to spend the rest of her life with. The wedding would go forward, her father had told her sternly, and she mustn't make a scene with another of her childish tantrums. Damian was a crowned prince, and their union would ensure that she would one day be Queen. That was why tomorrow, she was scheduled to be brought by coach down to the eastern seaport on the far side of the Silverwoods to set sail for the Southern Isles –a two-day journey that would culminate in her permanent imprisonment into marriage with a pompous, lecherous ass of a man twelve years her senior, whom she most certainly did not love.

Emma had been a prisoner for as long as she could remember, but as she was so often reminded, she _was_ the daughter of Snow White. And she was not going to allow herself to marry Prince Damian. Therefore, if her parents would not advocate for her, Emma would take matters into her own hands. She was just stubborn enough to decide for herself that if she was going to escape the prison of her birth for another land, she might as well be fully _free_. She would not allow herself to simply exchange one gilded cage for another. Control over her own body had been stolen from her at the tender age of three, and while she would never be able to fully recover what she had lost to her parents' 'good intentions', she _could_ prevent them from selling what was left to a spoiled Prince in a desperate attempt to atone for their own mistakes.

No, Emma would not be marrying Damian. She was going to escape the life of royalty forever.

The echoes of approaching footsteps reached Emma's ears and startled her from her thoughts; she ducked her head and quickened her pace as she passed a night guard in the hall, hoping he wouldn't question her. Unfortunately, luck didn't seem to be on her side tonight, as the guard eyed her suspiciously as she approached before snagging her upper arm in one meaty hand and forcing her to a stop. Almost impatiently, he yanked the hood of her cloak from her head, muttering something about the Captain bringing whores in _again_.

Instead of the sight of the call girl he expected beneath the hood though, the unfortunate soldier was met with the visage of his Princess. His eyes widened in shock and he dropped his hand from her person as if she had burned him. "Your Highne—"

He never got to finish. As soon as he had released her, Emma had snatched the dagger from her waist and stabbed it between two plates in the armor that covered his torso, clamping a hand over his mouth to muffle his shout of pain and surprise.

Served him right for calling her a whore.

"My apologies," she whispered to him even as the light in his eyes was dimming. "But I cannot allow anyone to stop me."

The guard went limp, and Emma took a short moment to position the man in a corner as if he had simply fallen asleep on his late night rounds. With any luck, the body wouldn't be discovered until she was long gone.

While Emma had been extensively trained to defend herself with various weapons, this was the first time she'd ever killed someone. She felt… slightly queasy. But it had been necessary, and Emma resolved not to think on it further. Her freedom was of greater value to her than the life of one of her many jailers, and that was all there was to it.

Thankfully, Emma made her way through the various twist and turns of the lesser-known passageways she travelled (which she'd carefully mapped out days ago in preparation for this night) without encountering another soul. When she reached the door that lead to the outside courtyard, however, Emma was slightly dismayed to find it locked. It was a foolish mistake to not have expected this though, she realized. All but the main entrances to the castle were sealed at night, and she should have had the foresight to steal a master key from one of the stewards. Stupid.

There was little she could do about it now though, despite the clarity of hindsight. Taking a steadying breath, Emma instead pressed her palms against the empty lock on the door, gathering her swirling emotions and clamping down on them until they reached a manageable state. Then and only then did she reach for the power within her: a comforting warmth that suffused through her body like sunlight but became searing agony the moment it reached her wrists, cringing away from the block there like a frightened child. Emma forced her magic to channel through the barrier despite this setback though, whimpering in anguish as the scarred flesh of her wrists was seared anew by its passage.

The lock released with a _thunk_, and Emma relinquished her hold on her magic immediately, sagging against the doorframe for a few heartbeats before collecting herself and moving forwards into the cool outside air.

Emma had chosen this particular exit for a reason, for it led almost directly to the stables. She'd never be able to escape the Royal Guard on foot, she was well aware. The runaway Princess stepped outside and carefully shut the broad oak door once more. Not a soul was in sight. It was a chilly night for the season, and she was grateful for it. The pair of stable boys put on the night's watch were leaning against the back wall behind the stables as they always did on such nights, sipping at the hot cider that a gullible scullery maid had sneaked them from the castle kitchens. If she hurried, and made little sound, Emma estimated that she'd have just enough time to make her escape without them seeing her.

Emma had always liked the stables. Liked riding. It was one of the few scraps of freedom that she had ever been permitted and had enjoyed. The smell of hay and horse and wood and oiled leather soothed her racing heart as she slipped inside the stables, and the girl proceeded on her quest with a little less fear than before. At first, she intended to retrieve her own horse, Lily, but she stopped instead in front of the adjacent stall. The horse that lived there, Aziz, was far larger than Lily, and could run faster for longer. He was a horse meant for strenuous work, and not docile pleasure riding (as was befitting a Princess) like sweet Lily was. Aziz was her brother the Prince's horse, and was magnificent in his size and power.

Grinning impishly, Emma snagged a set of tack and hurriedly began buckling the saddle onto Aziz's back. Leopold would be _livid_ when he found out she'd taken him.

And it would serve him right. Her precious little brother was the reason all of this was happening in the first place, after all. Or, at least, he was the excuse her parents used to validate their selfish decisions regarding her life. Which was just as bad, really.

She _had_ to marry Damian, they'd told her. For the good of the kingdom. The kingdom that would one day belong to Leopold, who would have the privilege of marrying for love, unlike her. And didn't she, as a doting sister, want that for her little brother? She and Damian could come to love each other after all, her mother had argued. Just like her grandparents, Leopold and Eva. Her brother Leopold would grow up to be King, and wasn't Emma just so _proud_ of him for that? Marrying Prince Damian was the least she could do to help him, and he was the best she could have hoped to do for herself anyways.

But it had always been that way. Emma was under no delusions of just who the favored child was between the two of them. Emma had always been a handful. A willful child, they'd called her. Unappreciative of everything her parents had done for her and her brother, perfect Prince Leopold. The royal heir that didn't throw tantrums, or want to skip lessons in needlework to climb trees, or ride horses like a man instead of like a lady, or question her parents' decisions, or study the theory of magic in the back of the library instead of the history tomes. He wasn't born _wrong_. He was everything their parents had wanted, and she wasn't. Leopold, with his charming smile and tongue always ready with 'Yes, mother,' and 'Of course, father,' and his infinite patience to make nice with even the most infuriating of nobles at the endless events he was allowed to attend while Emma was confined to the castle. He was the perfect Prince, and Emma was… not.

So Emma was going to take his horse.

On Aziz's broad back, it was easy to escape the castle. It was the dead of night, and the few guards still on duty were slow to spot suspicious things in the dark. Emma simply walked the stallion right through the gates and the winding streets of the castletown. As soon as she'd cleared the outlying buildings, Emma kicked Aziz into a surging gallop, laughing breathlessly as she rode west, beholden for the first time to none but herself.

She'd had her first taste of freedom in her entire existence, and she already loved it.

There was still work to be done though, Emma knew. Riding west was the logical thing for a runaway princess to do. The majority of the kingdom was spread in that direction, including large swaths of forest perfect for hiding in. Forests that Snow White herself had occupied during her stint as an outlaw, in point of fact.

So, naturally, west is the first place that the Royal Guard would look for her.

It took two hours at a gallop for Emma to reach Lily Rock, a moderately-sized town that wasn't as mired in squalor and poverty as many of the villages dotted across the Silverwoods were. Glancing thoughtfully up at the sky, Emma estimated that the sun would rise within the hour. That didn't leave her much time.

Her plan was simple. As amusing as it had been to steal Leopold's horse, the Royal Guard would recognize the beautiful stallion in a heartbeat. Emma wouldn't be able to disappear while riding him. So, under the cover of the slowly fading darkness, the runaway princess crept into the stables of an inn she selected arbitrarily. There were three horses boarded inside, and Emma chose the strongest-looking of the bunch for her purposes, leading the new mare from her stall and leaving Aziz in her place. (She refused to feel remorseful for the swap. Aziz was worth three of the mare anyways.) Without further ceremony, Emma snuck out again, mounted the bay mare, and rode away from Lily Rock at a fast clip.

The town would be one of the first places that was searched. Inevitably, Aziz would be found in the inn's stables, and it would be assumed that Emma left him there and continued west.

A pity that she was riding south then.

And Emma had to. South was the one direction that would be ruled out of the search for her, because as desperate as the Princess was to escape her arranged marriage, no child of Snow White would ever flee _towards_ the Summerlands and the Evil Queen. Right?

Wrong. Because that was exactly what Emma intended to do. The Summerlands was the one place that her parents dared not venture for fear of incurring the Queen's wrath, and therefore the one kingdom in which Emma could simply _disappear_ without the constant fear of recognition. The Evil Queen might have hated her parents, but that just meant that she wouldn't be actively searching for the lost Princess within her borders. Moreover, unlike in the Silverwoods, magic was not a crime in the Summerlands and was practiced openly. Emma might not have been capable of practical magic without incurring great pain now, but she appreciated the fact that she'd at least have the_ option_ there, should she be feeling somewhat masochistic. She could always practice the less painful herbal magics too, should she stumble across the proper materials. Or she could do without it, if she wanted. It didn't really matter. She could, for the first time, do exactly as she pleased.

Emma was free now. She would _remain_ free.

And that was all she'd ever wanted.


	5. Chapter 5: Emma

**A/N: Hello, all! Fun fact, did you know that hazelnut frozen yogurt with sliced strawberry is possibly the greatest dessert in the history of everything? Because it is. I mean, I know it's poor form or whatever to eat and use a laptop at the same time, but my roommate brought me a bowl of this divine goodness and I legitimately can't stop.**

**But back on topic. This chapter and the next will detail a bit about Emma's life as a handmaiden, and after that, we'll get to the juicy stuff. So stick to it you guys! Feedback and suggestions are more than welcome. :)**

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The Handmaiden's Philosophy: Chapter Five

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_Emma's POV_

Emma was not impressed by the Evil Queen's castle. So far as castles went (and she really did qualify as an expert, having lived in one, visited others, and studied depictions of yet more) it was fairly average in nearly every respect. Really, though it was as magnificent as its peers, the castle's only truly unique quality was the dark stone from which it was built, but that was an aspect of buildings unique to the Summerlands rather than the castle specifically. The footman that had been instructed to tend to her when she first arrived had led her frantically inside and through a servant's entrance, rushing her through twisting halls in search of Matron Josie, thus affording her a rather brief tour of it despite the fact that they were moving too quickly for Emma to truly appreciate the view.

Matron Josie was something new to her though. The servant woman who was titled Matron in the palace of her youth had been… sycophantic, to phrase it kindly. A fanatically loyal lackey of her parents used to keep the serving girls in line. Emma hadn't really expected anything different from Josie, but she was greatly surprised to find that the older woman was tough as nails, no-nonsense, and quite vocal with her opinions on the Queen's decision to pick up a stray tavern girl from Lyon to be her newest chambermaid. (Her opinions being that the Queen really ought not to choose an inexperienced whelp for a role she traditionally complained about being filled less than satisfactorily, and that she really hoped Emma was ready to deal with the Queen's temper, because she wasn't going to be comforting her if the Queen made her cry.) Emma had never experienced such –well, _personality_—in a servant before, and couldn't quite decide if she was delighted or bemused by the woman. She definitely understood why she had attained such a high oversight position amongst the castle's servants though. The woman was fierce, like the Queen herself.

Even then, after having shared only a mostly silent carriage ride with the Queen, Emma was coming to realize that the woman known to her for most of her life as the Evil Queen was far more complex than she had originally anticipated when she chose to accept the offer of employment.

After her first morning spent fulfilling her duties as handmaiden however, Emma was certainly beginning to comprehend just what she had gotten herself into.

Exiting the Queen's chambers with a polite curtsey when dismissed from her presence, Emma forced herself to keep her poise while she walked primly back to the Spartan (yet clean) room that she had been assigned in the servants' hall in the Royal wing of the castle. She was pleased with them, really. Emma had become accustomed to the drastically different standards of living that the peasants had as opposed to the royalty in her time away from life as a Princess in the Silverwoods. Her new room in the Queen's castle was both larger and more comfortable than her room in the tavern in Lyon, where she'd lived and worked ever since arriving in the Summerlands, and she was quite appreciative of the improvement. It _was_ rather strange to be sleeping in a castle again, but Emma had to admit that she didn't hate it.

Once she'd slipped inside her quarters, Emma collapsed bonelessly upon the wooden chair situated in the corner, releasing a pent-up breath of nerves.

Emma had been attended to by handmaidens almost constantly for the first eighteen years of her life. As she grew older, she even often assisted her mother's handmaidens in dressing the Queen of the Silverwoods for court and pinning her hair. (Her mother's idea of 'bonding', which generally culminated in another speech extolling the greatness of True Love and fairy magic and giving hope to the people and other such things.) Thusly, she was more than familiar with the duties required of her in her new position in the very role she had once been surrounded by. The Queen's dresses –which she'd briefly looked over whilst retrieving today's dress from the closet—were of a slightly different style than those worn by the upper class in the Silverwoods, but their basic structure was the same. Emma anticipated having very few difficulties handling the repair and use of the Queen's wardrobe. Likewise, she had greatly enjoyed the opportunity to work with the Queen's beautiful head hair. Her new duties were far from a hardship to her.

No, what truly unsettled Emma about all of this was the Queen herself.

Emma was well aware that her ill-preparedness and sudden summons that morning had been a test, which she knew she had passed with flying colors. Regardless, the experience had been nerve-wracking, and it had taken a great deal of focus to keep that nervousness from manifesting physically. For once, Emma was glad for her extensive lessons in etiquette and comportment. She could _feel_ the Queen's eyes on her as she worked; studying, cataloguing, trying to peer right past her skin and into her soul. For whatever reason, the Queen clearly thought her interesting, and that made Emma wary. Queen Regina's reputation in the Summerlands was far kinder than her reputation in the Silverwoods, but that didn't change the fact that the Queen was a very dangerous woman no matter how harshly or kindly worded the sentiment was. She practically oozed power, and Emma was well aware that as a child of Snow White, she was playing with fire just by being here. Understandably, this made her slightly edgy. It didn't help that the Queen was probably the most beautiful person she had ever laid eyes upon either, and that she was required to dress and undress said goddess each day. (As if Emma weren't flustered enough!)

Doing the things handmaidens do was easy. It was actually _being_ a handmaiden that was hard.

Sighing and mentally pulling herself together, Emma stood and went to seek out Mabel, the Queen's chambermaid, who lived just next door. She had a feeling that unlike the night before, the servant would now be more than willing to share the specifics of her new position within the castle, and would be glad to see that she'd survived her first morning on the job.

The following weeks proved to be very interesting. Emma continued to perform impeccably in her various duties as handmaiden to the Queen, but was left with quite a bit of free time during the middle of the days when the Queen was busy. Most of the other servants were either too busy to socialize during these hours, or reluctant to do so, assuming that Emma would last only a few weeks at most. After her second morning in the Queen's company however, the monarch had given Emma permission to make use of the castle's vast library during such times. When she'd answered the Queen's summons that second morning, Emma found the Queen engrossed in a book of poetry that Emma was very familiar with.

"Have you read Leinad's _'Lake of Stars'_, Your Majesty?" she'd inquired in a conversational tone later, as she'd been brushing out the woman's glossy tresses and nodding her head towards where the Queen had placed the book on the vanity's edge. "It is my favorite of his poems, though I did enjoy _'The Hound' _as well."

The Queen had stared at her as though she'd suddenly sprouted a second head, not that Emma blamed her. The literacy rate amongst the lower class was frankly appalling, and books were an especially rare commodity. This was especially true for books without practical purpose, such as books of poetry, which were usually read for pleasure only by those who could afford it. Generally this was limited to nobility, which so far as the Queen was aware, Emma most certainly was not.

The blonde couldn't resist messing with the Queen just a bit though, in retaliation for what she'd tried to do the morning before. And in her defense, Leinad _was_ one of her favorite poets.

"I was allowed access to a rather extensive library in my youth," Emma explained after a heavy moment, taking pity on the woman. "I was always rather partial to poetry, though."

In response, the Queen had simply quirked a perfectly arched eyebrow and informed her where the castle's library was located, which Emma took as permission for her to read the books shelved there. In the days following, the pair of them would oftentimes engage in light discourse over books that one or the other had read. It came as no surprise to Emma that the Queen was incredibly intelligent. After all, the woman _was_ a lone female monarch ruling in a society that was dominated by the will of men. Emma just wasn't quite prepared for how _passionate_ she was though, underneath the nearly impenetrable shell of the politician. Emma would have thought from her reputation that the woman would be hard and cold, but Emma discovered within the first few moments of meeting her that the Queen was more like fire, burning bright and angrily behind a thin veil of calm.

Reading the Queen was like a game to Emma. The woman had a near-flawless neutral mask, and an entire Evil Queen persona to fall back on if that failed, so determining the truth of her reactions was exceedingly difficult. Of course, Emma had always relished a challenge, and she made it her silent mission to learn about the person beneath the crown rather than the ruler she showed the world.

The Queen was nothing like Emma had thought she'd be, she learned in the first few days of observation. The blonde had grown up with horror-stories revolving around the malice of the Evil Queen, and there were moments where Emma could definitely understand how the Queen had given that impression. The woman practiced powerful magic with complete ease, showed little mercy towards those who disobeyed her law (gods help them if they disobeyed the Queen directly), was as unapproachable a monarch as Emma had ever witnessed, and had no tolerance for any incompetency whatsoever. However, she was also scrupulously fair when resolving disputes, intelligent enough to run a country with truly stunning efficiency, open-minded enough to embrace and protect magical and even non-human citizens within her borders, and took a genuine interest in the wellbeing of her people. Simply through filling her position, Emma was also afforded a precious glimpse into the more personal life of the Queen that she doubted many others had ever borne witness to. She knew how the Queen liked her tea prepared for any given hour, knew that she suffered headaches when stressed, and knew that the Queen dressed more provocatively and elaborately when she was upset or nervous. She knew that though she would never admit it out loud, the Queen enjoyed little things like fresh flowers (daffodils, not roses) in her rooms, a few extra moments of her hair being brushed out even when the tangles had all been worked free, honeycakes left in her chambers so she'd have something sweet to return to after a stressful day in court, or even just having her bed turned down for her while she soaked in her tub. Emma did these things gladly, because even with as trying and rude as she could be towards her, Emma found herself genuinely _liking_ the Queen.

Which proved that Emma truly did span more than one level of insanity, considering her parentage. But she really couldn't help it. The Queen had a beautiful mind and a beautiful smile, and more often than not, her unique brand of caustic humor made Emma genuinely grin to herself.

Things in the Summerlands were so different than the state of affairs in the Silverwoods. People here were safer. Happier. Freer. Their Queen took care of them, and protected them from threats both within and without. Oddly enough, the Evil Queen was the sort of Queen that Emma had always wished that she one day could be, and not _just_ because Queen Regina was a woman worth more than what her body could provide to a King. She ruled well. Emma knew this to be true beyond a doubt, after having lived in the Summerlands as a peasant for two years enjoying a quality of life far improved over what she might have led had she chosen to live as a peasant in the Silverwoods. In the Silverwoods, the people supported the monarchy, not the other way around. And though Emma knew that her mother meant well, she was –plain and simple—an incredibly selfish person who chose to hide that trait beneath a thin cloak of 'good'. Money in their kingdom was allocated only to support certain citizens that met her and the King's approval. Many nonhuman peoples were run out of the country entirely. Laws were passed and enforced out of ignorance, fear, and adherence to tradition, rather than true altruism. The Silverwoods was the country in which Emma was born. The country her parents ruled. But… the Summerlands was her home, and she was _never_ going back to where she came from.

Had she gone to the Southern Isles and married the crowned Prince Damian, Emma would have one day been Queen there, after the deaths of the current rulers. But Damian was a vile man –and yes, she _had_ met him, despite her mother's insistence that she clearly hadn't spent enough time with him if she thought so little of her future husband—and he would have never allowed her the power to make decisions relevant to the kingdom. She would be Queen in name and pedigree only, valued only for her aesthetic appeal and ability to bear children, and Emma could never live like that. Never.

But here… she was happy here. Mending the Queen's gowns, dressing and undressing her, doing her hair, drawing her baths, discussing works of poetry and fiction, and playing the occasional game of chess when the Queen proclaimed herself in need of distraction (but Emma just thought that she was really just lonely). Perhaps this was not the life she had been born into, but it was the life that Emma had built for herself, and she was proud of the person that she was, even if that person was only a cheeky handmaiden. She felt honored to make the Queen's life just a little better with her efforts.

Because if Emma could not be Queen, she would take excellent care of the Queen she wished she could be, and that would have to be enough.

And as the weeks passed, she found that it was.


	6. Chapter 6: Regina

**A/N: So it's been a bit of a rough week, and I thought an early update was called for. A thousand thank-yous to those of you who have left reviews! They're so very helpful and encouraging, and I'm utterly addicted. This chapter is the counterpart to last chapter, and is basically a view of the evolving relationship between our two leading ladies before all the secrets come out. I know a lot of you expressed some boredom with that, but it's important to the story that they don't immediately jump into bed together. I promise, there'll be plenty of time for that later. :P**

**Also, I've been getting a lot of questions as to when/if we'll see Snow and Charming. The answer is chapter 23-ish, as it stands so far. (But that's subject to change.) There's a lot of plot to get through before that happens, so patience!**

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The Handmaiden's Philosophy: Chapter Six

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_Regina's POV_

If it wouldn't have been a completely unseemly thing for a Queen to do, Regina might have thrown herself through one of the nearby stained glass windows that lined the throne room just to put herself out of her misery. As it was, she was still seriously considering the option. She had held court on four days per week, every week, for more than twenty years, and yet it had never become less tedious. While she understood the necessity of addressing the issues within her kingdom's borders, Regina greatly disliked playing mediator in the often petty squabbles amongst the rabble.

But such was the life of a Queen, she supposed.

"State your grievance," she instructed as she waved the next citizen forwards. He was an older man with graying temples, dressed in sturdy, practical clothes that made Regina suspect that his occupation somehow involved livestock or agriculture.

"Thank you, Yer Majesty," the man said gruffly, kneeling before the stone steps to the dais that supported her silver-backed throne. "I've come here ta speak for the farmers south of the North Woods, ta seek your aid. The woods… they're overrun, by forest elves. They shot Jonah's boy when he went ta get kindling, Yer Majesty."

Regina frowned, shallow creases appearing between her eyebrows. Over the past two months, she'd been receiving increasing reports of forest elves fleeing into the Summerlands from the north and crowding the forests. Coming from the north: from the Silverwoods. Nonhuman refugees entering her country from the Silverwoods was not an uncommon occurrence for Regina at all. Even during her poisoned-apple-revenge-phase as the Evil Queen, when she'd cared significantly less for the tedium of ruling a kingdom, she had outlawed the hunting of wolves in her domain; but she had since expanded her protection to include several other species of sentient beings that were often reviled and systematically expunged in the other kingdoms. However, forest elves were not usually counted amongst those who sought her protection. They were a reclusive species, and very good at hiding from pitchfork-wielding peasants when they wanted to. Very few things were a threat to them, and they were very rarely driven from their homes.

It was unsettling then, to hear of them fleeing their ancestral homes in such numbers and crowding her forests with their presence. They were displaying unusually territorial and aggressive tendencies as well. Regina honestly wasn't sure if she wanted to know what new horror had them so spooked. In fact, she was rather inclined just to ignore it. Whatever the problem was in the Silverwoods, it was Snow and Charming's problem anyways.

The forest elves that had seemingly adopted her North Woods, however, _were_ her problem.

"Scribe!" she snapped out. "Compose a missive to Lord Caelum to summon him here at once. Inform him that he is needed in his capacity of half-elf, as I have need for a new ambassador," she instructed, before finally addressing the farmer. "Rest assured that I will do my utmost to resolve the issue, Farmer," she informed him, and then proceeded to pin him with a stern glare. "You are to make no moves of aggression upon the elves until an agreement has been reached. You are dismissed."

The man stood and bowed before leaving. "Yes, Yer Majesty. Thank you, Yer Majesty."

The next few issues were banal. A few border disputes, and a settlement between a pair of farmers over the ownership of a colt. Regina forced herself to remain impassive and prevent her boredom and exasperation from reaching her face, while she diverted part of her attention inwards to ponder the Silverwoods. Sudden dearth of forest elves aside, the Silverwoods was undergoing a time of political change. Just last week, Regina had received word that crowned Prince Leopold II was promised to Princess Alexandra of the Greensea kingdom. Alexandra was the eldest daughter of King Thomas and Queen Cinderella, and just a few months older than Leopold himself. It was a hasty match, and not one borne out of love, Regina was sure. Still, with Princess Emmaline vanished (and the Silverwoods' alliance to the Southern Isles vanished with her) Regina imagined that Snow and Charming were rather desperate for political allies. As the daughters of a lowborn girl, Alexandra and her sisters were not the most desirable of brides, therefore making Thomas more than eager to marry them off to pure royal lines. But he could do far worse than Leopold for his daughter, Regina could admit.

Leopold II was a rather well known figure amongst those who ran in the higher circles. The young Prince of the Silverlands was charismatic and handsome, and rather smarter than his insipid parents. Regina had even met him at a ball in Queen Abigail's kingdom once, and while he had interacted with her only because it would have been rude to do otherwise, he had done so with solemnity and politeness (though, of course, he had excused himself as soon as was socially acceptable). She couldn't say that she _liked_ him, for the boy's very _name_ was a constant reminder of cold and terrifying nights spent beneath a lecherous old man, but she didn't hate him either. Leopold II was obnoxiously perfect in a classic Snow White fashion, but he had never personally wronged her. Regina would term her feelings about him to belong somewhere in the area of strong distaste. He would, at the very least, prove to be a better leader than his parents, she believed.

Occasionally, Regina would wonder about his older sister, Emmaline, and _her _capacity to rule. (Had she married when she should have, she would have been the next in line to be Queen of the Southern Isles, after all.) When Regina had received word of the Princess' birth, she had imagined that the girl would be raised in the very image of her mother. A useless, _traditional_ Princess, adored by her subjects for no other reason than that she made frequent appearances at public events and smiled dazzlingly at the assembled crowds. However, after the age of three, the Princess suddenly ceased all public appearances. Leopold, of course, continued to interact with the outside world on a regular basis, but so far as Regina was aware (and she had a _very_ efficient information network) Emmaline never set foot outside of the Silverwoods castle town again, outside of two occasions where she had briefly attended royal weddings in other kingdoms. She had been secluded in Snow White's mirror-free palace her entire life –out of sight and out of mind—up until the moment she had disappeared.

This said, Regina found herself highly curious as to what the outcome of the coming alliance between the Silverwoods and Greensea would mean politically, especially once Leopold II took the throne. It wasn't as if she hadn't time to observe the plot unwind, she noted with a bit of wry humor. She had nothing _but_ time, as she would never die of old age, unlike her non-magical counterparts in the Silverwoods. (And didn't that taste wonderful?) Regina wasn't all that fond of the rulers of many of her neighboring kingdoms, but that didn't stop her from sitting back and enjoying the drama that ensued between them when she had the opportunity to do so.

A messenger entered the throne room then, and stood off to the side, awaiting the moment he was directed to deliver his missive. Regina recognized the crest sewn onto his cloak as belonging to House Raillon, one of the many noble families that fell under the banner of her rule in the Summerlands. Once her attention was free, she beckoned him forward and accepted the scroll he carried, reading through it quickly. The son of the recently deceased Lord Edmund of House Raillon, Lord Vayre, was getting married to Lady Mary of House Kesh in two weeks.

Regina snorted elegantly, looking over the missive once more. Two weeks. A fortnight. Doubtlessly, Lady Mary was already well with child if the wedding was announced so suddenly. Though knowing Lord Vayre, she wasn't exactly surprised. She enjoyed the man. He was an excellent politician despite his relative youth, and quite an amusing dinner guest. Regina would never deny that the man was a complete scoundrel though, and often thought with his manhood instead of his brain. Clearly, such habits had caught up to him now.

Still, Regina thought she would rather enjoy attending the event, which was to be held in House Raillon's ancestral keep. Vayre was well liked, and Regina imagined that his wedding would be a well-attended and generally enjoyable occasion. Yes, she would go, she decided. If nothing else, it would break up the monotony of her days.

But she would not go alone. This would be the first time she had taken a trip longer than a few hours away from her castle since she'd brought the tavern girl, Emma, back with her to act as her handmaiden. Much to her consternation, Regina had become very attached to the blonde. And everyone had noticed. The Queen's mood had improved drastically since she began and ended her days with someone she could actually stand, and Regina was well aware that the other servants of the castle made an extra effort to be kind to Emma out of gratitude for achieving something that no one else had before. But she also knew that while Emma was friendly towards the servants living alongside her, she oddly enough wasn't _friends_ with them. (Which had baffled her genie to no end, and he kept insisting it was a sign of her self-absorption and big-headedness. Regina had just shook her head at him and dismissed him from her presence after the conversation had devolved into a jealous rant.) Still, that didn't mean she wasn't intrigued by the information provided.

Because Emma… Emma was different. She was unlike any person Regina had ever encountered in her life, be that peasant or noble. Weeks after her arrival, she was _still_ the Queen's favorite puzzle. Regina supposed that she could always demand the blonde reveal her secrets, but _that_, she decided, would take the fun out of the game. She'd an entire mental list of things that were strange about her newest (and by far the most competent) handmaiden. For instance, the fact that Emma knew how to _be_ a handmaiden. Secondly that she could read, and had done so extensively, with a level of comprehension that enabled her to have in-depth discussions about content with her Queen. (Regina honestly looked forward to the moments when she and Emma could speak freely, or play chess, even though she would never, _ever_ admit to it aloud.) Emma had clearly led a privileged life at some point, which was a strange juxtaposition to her current position, as were the scars that she hid on her wrists. Additionally, and most infuriatingly, Emma was calm. Too calm, really, for a tavern girl who shouldn't understand or much less be accustomed to the inner workings of a castle, and of its politics. And yet she was. These things were all beyond suspicious, and Regina was well aware that Emma was not who she claimed to be.

The question being; who was she really?

Anyone else would have banished Emma from his or her presence under such circumstances, but Regina did not fear the blonde. There was little she could do to harm her when Regina was so well protected by her magic. Emma was many things, but she wasn't magic. She was as dead to Regina's senses as any of the other servants, and the lower mages and apprentices in her employ had all confirmed this as well. Moreover, Regina detected no ill will from Emma. Despite the deception, it seemed the blonde had no desire to harm her Queen. Though she knew that such impressions could (and often were) misleading, Regina had a good feel for Emma, she thought, and as improbable as she thought it was, she knew the blonde was actually quite _fond_ of her. _No one_ was fond of the Evil Queen, except for her. It was… a nice feeling, and Regina was reluctantly fond of Emma as well, though she would never express it aloud, she knew.

That fondness was why Emma would be going with her to the ancestral Raillon keep to attend to her duties even outside of the castle. It wasn't an uncommon practice to travel with personal servants, but it was something Regina rarely did. Much like the sunrise, though, Emma had become one of the rare joys in her life. Regina didn't know her. Not really. But she had lived long enough to learn that it was wise to take happiness when and where it could be found, even if it was in something as simple as the care shown to her by someone who was paid to do it.

But such was the life of a Queen, she told herself for the second time that day.

Resolved, Regina proceeded with court, and informed her scribe to make arrangements for the trip while she worked first with the people who had come to seek her counsel, and then later alone in her study with finances. By the time she returned to her chambers it was well after supper, and she was exhausted beneath her Queenly mask as well as nursing a pounding headache that made her cringe away from the brightness of the torchlight in the hall.

Emma was already waiting for her when she entered the suite, standing in the doorway to the bathroom. She dropped into a deep curtsey when Regina stepped inside. "I've drawn you a bath, my Queen, if it pleases you," she said softly, sharp eyes zeroed in on the vein standing out in Regina's forehead. "I used the mint bathing salts. Would you like me to fetch some herbal tea with lemon?"

The fact that Emma now could predict her headaches and knew her preferred treatments for them, despite the fact that Regina had never confessed to any such pains, almost made her smile. Almost. Instead, the brunette just nodded once and allowed her handmaiden to undress her and assist her in stepping into the waiting tub of water, which she heated with a delicate flick of the wrist. Regina sighed with content as the heat soothed her coiled muscles, and she leaned her head back against the rim of the tub with her eyes closed.

"Oh, and Emma?" she called, hearing soft footsteps begin to make their way out of the room, presumably to fetch the earlier offering of tea. "Do prepare yourself for a trip south, dear. Lord Verye is marrying the Lady Mary in a fortnight, and you're to accompany me to the keep while I attend the ceremony."

A soft snort of laughter escaped the blonde. Verye visited the castle on a regular basis, and Regina knew that the servants were doubtlessly familiar with his habits. "Is the Lady Mary with child?" the blonde queried dryly.

And Regina did smile this time.


	7. Chapter 7: Emma

**A/N: Exciting chapter this time! And once again, thank you to everyone who reviewed. I had probably the worst weekend ever, so it was nice to get the encouragement to update on time. So please have fun reading, guys!**

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The Handmaiden's Philosophy  
Chapter Seven

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_Emma's POV_

Emma had experienced more of society in her twenty years of life than most people did in twice that time, simply because she had been born and raised a Princess before willfully abandoning that life for that of a peasant. Not a great many people could claim to have experienced both sides of that particular societal coin. (Though her father one of those few, ironically.) That isn't to say that she romanticized the life she had now over the life she was bred for. Emma was of the firm opinion that there were both benefits and drawbacks to belonging to the noble class as well as belonging to the serving class. If she were being honest with herself, Emma might even admit that she didn't really care what her station in life was, so long as she was the one in command of it. That being said, her visit to the ancestral Raillon keep was proving to be very interesting. If there was one thing she had learned in her time on the run from the rulers of the Silverwoods, it was that people were all the same no matter who they were or how far you wandered. And the fact that many of the upper class looked down upon their subjects as if they were lesser beings was a constant source of astonishment to her.

After all, what was a noble but a well-dressed peasant? A shepherd could be King just as easily as a Princess could be a tavern girl.

She had not interacted much with the servants in the Queen's castle. She liked a few of them –Josie and Mabel and little Teresa, the cook's assistant—well enough, but Emma hadn't ever really been one for friends. The ones she'd had in her youth were all assigned to her. Later, during her time as a tavern girl in Lyon, she'd found that with her upbringing she had little in common with the other peasants. More recently, the other servants –be they chambermaids or footmen or kitchen girls or stable boys—respected her enough to keep an appropriate emotional distance. She was used to the relative isolation, having never known anything different, and Emma had plenty to occupy her time when not attending her Queen in the castle.

At Lord Verye's wedding, things were different. No one knew her there, and the servants were not held to as exacting a standard as they were in the royal palace. They socialized and gossiped while they worked, and the chaos induced through the mixing of so many guests and their accompanying servants (the Lord of House Raillon was a popular man, it seemed) made a calm and organized working environment next to impossible to achieve. Amongst the servants, no one was quite certain who had arrived with whom, or what their respective duties actually were in an unfamiliar house.

Emma could say this for the Evil Queen though; she treated her servants well, if they were competent. It was rather strange for the blonde to experience the complete indifference and occasional rudeness from other nobles that she was subjected to during their three-day stay at the keep, so accustomed was she to serving the Queen who at the very least usually acknowledged her presence and would often converse with her.

Personal servants were so _very_ underestimated by those less wise than her Queen.

Emma wasn't what one might label nosy. Honestly, she wasn't. But dressed clearly as a servant, she became more invisible to some of the upper class than if she had acquired a spell to make it so, and she _was_ a naturally curious soul. She could hardly be blamed for paying a bit more attention than usual to the sounds that surrounded her when there was such delicious gossip to be had directly from the horse's mouth, so to speak.

In the absence of Mabel, who had stayed behind, Emma took on additional duties as a chambermaid. She was assisted by another girl who lived in the keep itself, as she was obviously unfamiliar with the guest rooms provided, and Emma in return frequently followed her about to assist in a few of the other rooms when she had the time. Thus, Emma was oftentimes in prime position to overhear various naughty tidbits of conversation that occasionally had her laughing like a madwoman when she recalled them.

Like now, for instance.

It had taken quite an impressive amount of self-control for Emma to keep her silence until she had reached her Queen's guest quarters, arms full with fresh linens. Once she'd stepped inside however, the once-Princess collapsed into a fit of giggles, slumping against the door in a rare break of posture and gasping for air between peals of laughter.

"What in the world has brought you to such a state, girl?" snapped the Queen from her place leaning in the doorway to the sitting room on her left, startling Emma into a state of semi-sobriety. She'd thought the brunette to be out at the celebration still, as the dancing and drinking of the wedding feast were still in full swing.

Struggling to regain her composure, Emma straightened before dipping into a shallow curtsey, splaying her skirts on only one side as the fresh bed linens were still tucked under one arm. She'd stopped laughing, though she knew she was still grinning like a fool. "My apologies, my Queen," she demurred. "Had I known you would be retiring early, I would have made your bed far sooner."

The Queen just ached a perfectly formed eyebrow, her beautiful features clearly showing her irritation with the evasion of the question. She was still dressed in the skin-tight black gown she'd worn to the festivities, her hair thrown up into the upright ponytail edged with lace that Emma was informed was her classic image. Stunning, as usual, though Emma was beginning to think that it was impossible for the woman to be otherwise, regardless of her state of dress.

"The table attendants told me that Lord Marcus of House Tris was expelling his usual vitriol towards non-traditional couples quite loudly in the dining hall this morning," Emma explained, relenting some as she straightened once more. The Queen was regarding her with interest, and Emma thought that this reaction was probably due to the fact that she rarely maintained less than impeccable posture regardless of the humor of their interactions, and yet just moments ago she'd been laughing freely. She blushed slightly under the scrutiny, self-conscious of having lost control in such a way before her Queen, who required such professionalism from her servants. "Yet but a few moments ago, I witnessed Lord Marcus's eldest son entering one of Lord Blake's son's chambers. He was greeted quite… enthusiastically. I do wonder what Lord Marcus would think, should he become aware of the identity of his son's latest dalliance," Emma finished with a coy smile.

The Queen blinked before tossing her head back with a dark chuckle that did funny things to Emma's stomach. "Well isn't _that_ precious?" the woman commented with a sneer that the blonde knew her well enough to know hid genuine mirth. "Lord Marcus is old. Perhaps we shall see a union between House Tris and House Black before long. When they are found out, I will lend my support of the match, and I might have a greater ally in those Houses as well."

If Queen Regina was anything, she was a competent Queen, Emma knew. The blonde wasn't sure of the woman's personal stance on most subjects, but she was pleasantly surprised that the Queen was both intelligent and tolerant enough to already be contemplating how to take advantage of such a situation regardless of whether or not she agreed with it. Emma's own parents would have disapproved of the affair, she was certain. They would have never outwardly _objected_, of course, but they would have never openly supported two noblemen if their wish was to be married either, regardless of how it would have benefitted them to do so. It was especially hypocritical considering their liberally espoused veneration of all aspects of True Love.

Emma smiled brightly at her Queen. A true, open, affectionate smile that caused the other woman's eyes to flash with momentary surprise upon seeing it. Normally, Emma wouldn't dare break the reserved façade that was expected of her as a handmaiden, but tonight, she simply couldn't bear concealing her happiness. Thankfully, the Queen chose not to comment on her expression and allowed Emma to go about her duties in peace as she sat by the fire with a book. She pretended indifference, but Emma could feel the woman's eyes on her as she quietly finished preparing the rooms for the evening.

She didn't mind.

The wedding of Lord Verye and Lady Mary was a resounding success, and the guests left the next day quite contented. Even the Queen. Once more, Emma rode in the carriage with her employer. Unlike her first experience doing so, however, the pair did not sit in silence, for which Emma was glad. (The journey was a full one from sunup to sundown, and while the blonde was fairly good at maintaining composure in most situations, the dull monotony of the trip would have had her fidgeting like a child within minutes.) Instead, the Queen had brought a small selection of books from which she demanded Emma read aloud to her both on their way there and now, on their way back. The handmaiden did so gladly. In a strange way, she found it endearing that the Queen suffered from something so human as motion sickness when she attempted to read while traveling, and so she took to her task with good humor. Literature was a subject that the both of them took joy in, and Emma was glad of the easy atmosphere that her recitations created within the carriage.

It was a beautiful day for traveling. It had rained on their journey to the Raillon keep, but six hours into the return journey the weather still held, and Emma was grateful that she needn't fear suffering the abysmal cold once more.

Unfortunately, it was what she _didn't_ think to fear that she really should have.

The first beast dropped from the sky faster than the drop of an executioners axe. (And Emma would know, having witnessed a fair few during her time as a Princess.) Tucked snugly inside the carriage with the book and her Queen, Emma didn't really catch a good view of the creature. First, there was only the sudden, inhuman scream of aggression, quickly followed by the whoosh of displaced air, a flash of fur and glinting metal, and the shouts of their accompanying guards. Startled, Emma's voice choked off mid-word and the book she'd been reading slipped through numb fingers, landing at her feet with a soft thump. The Queen reacted more quickly, springing to her feet even as the carriage lurched to a stop and peering through the window in an effort to glimpse the cause of the disturbance, delicate hand splayed out against the inner wall of the coach to steady herself.

Another screech sounded, and yet another. Emma heard the sharp clank of metal on metal, the distressed tramping of horses, and the wet ripping of flesh. The wails of pain that followed came from both men and beast alike, she knew.

Snarling, the Queen threw open the carriage door with one hand while the other conjured a fiercely crackling ball of fire an inch above the palm. Without a word, she stepped out into the fray of distressed horses and shouting guards and flying beasts that shed fur and feathers and hot blood down upon them like a sort of macabre rain. Emma scrambled to the open door and peered out, heart hammering more fiercely than a dwarf's pickaxe in her chest. She feared greatly for her Queen, and also for herself. The Queen had powerful magic, she knew, but magic couldn't do everything.

And Emma had no idea if it could kill armored flying monkeys. (She very much hoped it could.)

In total, twelve of the beasts were circling on wing up above and diving down to attack the fire-wielding monarch and her six mounted guards, shrieking and wailing with mouths full of sharp, dirty teeth and jagged claws extended in preparation to rip and tear. Emma had never seen the like before, but it might not have seemed so unbelievable to her if the winged monkeys weren't bedecked in plate armor, tinted black with what the blonde idly theorized were smears of charcoal. By the time the Queen entered the fray, two of the beasts were wounded by the bite of the guards' swords and bleeding heavily, their wings beating irregularly as they retreated to a safer distance from the attack. Unfortunately, two of the guards were already dead, and lay prone upon the packed earth of the road. Their throats had been horrifically mangled by the bloodied claws of their attackers, and Emma cringed in sympathy at the sight. A third guard suffered from a more minor version of this same infliction, but was still mounted and prepared to fight. Clearly, he had been quicker to dodge than his dead brethren.

If she'd only a bow, Emma mourned upon taking stock of the situation. She might have helped then, as she was an excellent shot. As it was, she was weaponless, and therefore useless. So she stayed as she was.

The Queen, however, _wasn't_ useless. Her magic was fully accessible to her, and she didn't hesitate to use it. Curling her full, plum-painted lips into a fierce snarl, the brunette launched the fireball she'd conjured high into the air where the monkeys circled. The mutated simians squealed as the flames burst out in a halo of magic, hungrily licking up the bodies of at least six of them.

But the flames vanished almost as instantly as they appeared, leaving their targets stunned, but otherwise unharmed.

In different circumstances, Emma would have found the stunned and incredulous expression that the Queen was wearing somewhat comical. As if she was legitimately _offended_ by her opponents' failure to die a fiery death.

It took only a few moments for the Queen to pull herself back together, even as another of her guards died to her left and a monkey's leg was severed to her right as her guards desperately tried to keep the flying animals away from their ruler. Instead of conjuring another fireball however, the woman took a deep breath before exhaling sharply. With the release of breath, her body seemed to leak a shimmering purple mist that gathered around her hands and pooled at her feet. Palms out, she thrust her hands upwards and directed a stream of the magic towards the same area she had the fire, where it pulsed outward towards the monkeys like a swarm of angry bees.

This time, four of the monkeys disintegrated on the spot, two others suffering painful-looking burns before the mist dissipated. Seeing this, the Queen sagged a little, shoulders slumping, before preparing to repeat the action with a grim set to her face.

Emma didn't blame her for showing the strain. She herself couldn't practice magic without inviting debilitating pain, but she _was_ extremely well read on the subject. For all that King James and Queen Snow had outlawed the practice of magic in their realm, the library in the castle carried extensive material on it, and the once-Princess knew exactly what she'd just witnessed. Something about the monkeys provided magical protection to them, and to break through a magical shield, the person doing the breaking needed to put in more power than the person doing the shielding. Magic, in its purest form outside of the body of the caster, took the form of colored mist such as that the Queen had produced and used to overpower the spells on the monkeys to destroy them. Utilizing this pure manifestation of power to break through a magical shield was certainly effective, but it was also exhausting. Emma was frankly in awe of the fact that the woman had been able to create even _one_ blast of that size, much less the second that she was gearing up for even as another of her guards fell. Human magic users were rare enough as it was, but the amount of power that the Queen held was simply breathtaking.

In a swirl of black velvet, the Queen once again released the violet swell of her power into the furred mass of her attackers. They'd learned from the last time though, and two monkeys managed to escape with only minor damage, only slightly dazed.

This, it seemed, was the end of Queen Regina's magical strength though. It was clearly no easy task to break the enchantments protecting the flying beasts. She collapsed onto her hands and knees, trembling and panting, as her remaining two guards stood over her protectively, one brandishing his sword and the other a dagger so as to use his free hand to staunch the flow of blood from the lacerations to his neck.

A cold fear clutched at Emma's heart at seeing her Queen in this state. She knew the symptoms of magical exhaustion well. It was dangerous and put a great strain on the body, and in this instance, it also meant that her Queen was unable to protect herself. Emma knew then that she couldn't bear for the prickly brunette to be harmed. Evil Queen or no, the woman had wormed her way into her heart, and Emma _needed_ to keep her safe.

But she had no way to do that. No weapons that she could use.

The thought gave Emma pause. _She_ couldn't use her only weapon, but the _Queen_ could.

Hastily formed plan in place, Emma ducked her head and scrambled from the carriage and across the stretch of road that separated her and her Queen, falling to her hands and knees just in front of the woman.

Still panting, the Queen raised her head to look at her with bleary, unfocused brown eyes. "Emma," she breathed out as the blonde threw aside all propriety and seized the woman's soft hands, tugging them from beneath her and squeezing them tightly in her own. Above them, the wounded guard died with a wet gurgle as yellow claws tore out what remained of his throat, but Emma forced herself to ignore the noise. "What… are you doing?"

Emma smiled tenderly at her Queen, resigned to what she was about to do, but also glad to do it. The brunette might have been her employer, but she was also Emma's friend (even if the other woman would never admit to it). She greatly admired her Queen, and Emma would do just about anything to keep her safe. And she would, shortly. The unhealthy coldness of the woman's skin and the tremors still wracking her body were somewhat alarming, and the blonde quietly vowed to do as much as she could for her. "I'm helping, my Queen," she responded gently, giving the hands she'd captured in her own a reassuring squeeze. "Brace yourself."

Without further ado, Emma did what she hadn't in so _very_ long. She reached for her magic.

The magic inside of her was warm. It always had been. Sometimes, when she was younger, she'd let it well up inside her like the sun whenever she was upset and in need of comfort, and it felt like getting a hug from the loveliest, most tender person imaginable. Magic to Emma was happiness. It was the heat of joy and the burn of passion and the scorch of temper. Her protector. And even though she'd never really been able to make conscious use of her power outside of her own body without great suffering, magic was still the one entity that loved Emma unconditionally, and her sole comfort in those moments where she felt cold and alone. She felt radiant as it filled her up. It was only when she tried to force it past the barrier at her wrists and out of her body that the pleasure abruptly switched to agony.

But force Emma did. Because her Queen had depleted her own magic fighting the armored monkeys and her body had gone into shock from magical exhaustion, and Emma had magic to spare. Pain was nothing.

The magic burst free of her even as Emma cried out in agony, her wrists searing and burning beneath their linen wraps as they were branded by the equivalent of a hot poker. Her body shuddered with the force of the white-hot sensation that she well knew would only escalate the longer she maintained it, but she dared not stop until she'd done all she could. The raw power she was exuding from her palms manifested in an electric blue glow that engulfed both her hands and those that she was holding. Drained nearly completely of power, the Queen's body lapped up the offering of Emma's magic like a dry sponge to water, surging through their physical connection like the tide. Shocked at the sensation, the Queen's dull eyes widened and she threw her head back in ecstasy, plump lips parted in a wordless cry as she was filled with the foreign magic.

This transfer wouldn't have worked for just anyone, Emma was well aware. Most magic was incompatible with the magic of others, like oil and water. It was rare for casters to be able to cast together, much less share magic as she was doing now. Frankly, it had been a great surprise when Emma had first realized that the Queen's magic didn't make her skin crawl when used in close proximity to her, but instead felt quite pleasurable to her magical senses. They were quite compatible, it seemed, though from what she'd read, Emma knew it was likely that the Queen would never be able to command Emma's magic with as much precision as she could her own powers. In this instance, however, the need was urgent, and even unruly magic would be better than no magic at all. Hence why Emma was forcing as much of her power as she could into the other woman. Magic took focus to complete, and though it was possible for her to force her magic past the inhibitors, the pain that such an action caused utterly destroyed her concentration. Fortunately, this was not a spell. This was Emma giving her Queen a tool for the other woman to wield.

Emma wasn't quite sure how long she pushed the power she'd long held within herself out into her Queen. She was sobbing out great heaving breaths as best she could, but her world had narrowed into the sensation of pure, unadulterated pain, and her vision dimmed slowly around the edges until she quite suddenly couldn't see anything at all. Even then, it wasn't until she herself was suffering from the coldness of magical exhaustion –the absence of her beloved warmth—that she finally allowed herself to lose consciousness and slump fully to the bloodstained earth.

The last thing she heard was the angry scream of a flying monkey.


	8. Chapter 8: Regina

**A/N: My God, the response to last chapter was absolutely phenomenal! Thank you so very much to everyone who left a review. I was actually going to skip posting this week because of finals, but after reading all that encouragement, I just couldn't leave you guys hanging like that. So here's the next chapter for ya.**

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The Handmaiden's Philosophy  
Chapter Eight

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_Regina POV_

In all her years living in the Enchanted Forest, Regina had never encountered a creature quite as distasteful as the flying monkeys that were attacking her now. Not only were they aesthetically displeasing, but their shrieks and howls grated, they'd killed five of her best guardsmen, _and_ they were inexplicably protected against magical attacks which forced her to batter through their magical defenses with brute power alone. They were ugly and exhausting, and they were _really_ starting to piss her off.

They'd also managed to bring her –the Evil Queen—to her knees. Until Emma had run out from the safety of the carriage to help her, that is.

And help she did.

Regina was, quite frankly, flummoxed. Her cheeky little blonde handmaiden didn't have magic. She didn't. Magic users –those who came by their powers naturally, anyways—leaked, for lack of a better word. The magic that a natural magic user had inside them was a quasi-independent form of energy that lived within them but reached out to touch the outside world almost constantly, and it would fluctuate and flare in instances of strong emotion to instinctually protect its host. But Emma… Regina hadn't felt magic on her _ever_. Not once. And with the sheer _power_ the blonde apparently wielded, she definitely should have. It should have knocked her off her feet the moment they met.

Though she'd never admit to it, Regina was terrified in those first moments when Emma took ahold of her hands and forced her magic into Regina's weakened body. Not only was the sudden influx of energy a jolt, it was absolutely the _last _thing that the Queen had expected the other woman to do. After all, Emma didn't _have _magic.

Except that she did.

Moreover, it was _complementary _magic. Regina had never, _ever_ encountered such a thing before in another living being. Compatible magic, yes, but never to the point where it could be shared freely and equally between two casters without any negative symptoms of her body rejecting the foreign energy. And that was exactly what happened. Regina was cold and empty with her magic used up and floundering inside her, and the horrid monkeys (those that had survived her initial onslaught, at least) were still circling up above her in preparation for a renewed attack… and then Emma was there with her gentle blue-green eyes and warm hands and explosive magic that filled her with toe-curlingly pleasurable heat from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet even as Emma was crying out in agony and fainting in front of her. And it was frightening. First, because she didn't understand what was happening, and then because Regina had never felt anything quite like Emma's magic before. She was empty… but then quite suddenly filled up with everything that was Emma, and it was _beautiful_, and her tired achiness just drifted away as if it had never existed, replaced by the most _delicious _tingles. She felt _drunk_ off this magic. In better circumstances, Regina might have taken the time to bask in the glorious sensation, but as it was, she had more monkeys to deal with.

In her haze of trembling bliss, Regina didn't really remember finishing off the last of her attackers. She didn't remember levitating the limp body of her spent handmaiden behind her as she returned to the carriage, nor did she recall the trip back to her castle accompanied by her remaining guard as more than a haze of sensation. The vibration of carriage wheels against cobblestone, the smell of fear-sweat, the blush of scarlet slowly seeping across carefully bound wrists… She did, however, remember having the blonde carried to an empty chamber in the east wing on the same floor as her palace mages slept, and moving to unwrap the unconscious woman's bleeding wrists.

To unwrap just one of her many secrets.

Complementary magic. Regina remembered reading about it in her studies on theory, as well as the more common related phenomena known as compatible magic; but she'd never witnessed it. (Or known anyone else who had, for that matter.) She hadn't really given the idea much thought at all, actually, until she'd made a surprise visit to Maleficent about eight years ago and found her in one of her fits of rage. Maleficent was a woman with… harsh tastes when she got worked up, and Regina wasn't unaccustomed to hearing the agonized sounds of the woman's prisoners calling out from the dungeons whenever she walked past the area during one of her sporadic visits. On that particular occasion though, the blonde sorceress was absolutely _seething_ at her newest prisoner. And yet, she did not allow him to die, which was rather unusual. Maleficent was cruel, true, but Regina had honestly seen worse. The woman allowed her toys the mercy of death long before many others did –like, say, King George.

So of course, Regina had asked what it was this man had done to earn such ire from her.

Regina and Maleficent had an interesting friendship. It was part snark, part desperation for companionship, part genuine care, part intellectual intrigue, and part convenience. They shared compatible magic. Essentially, this meant that they could cast spells or curses or even enchant items together without their magics attacking each other, and Regina enjoyed that. Not only because the results of such efforts were almost always more powerful than what could have been achieved independently, but for a more sentimental reason as well. Magic was many things, but most people only witnessed Regina's magic when she used it to hurt, and it wasn't often that it was a beautiful experience that she was able to share with others. Or just Maleficent, in this case.

There were levels of compatibility, of course. Some magics she had been exposed to were volatile in their aggression towards her own while others were merely tolerable. When Regina cast with Maleficent, their magic formed a mildly pleasant harmony buzzing in her limbs. The man –a half-elf mage the blonde had encountered in a nearby town—that Maleficent was torturing that day, however, was far more suited to the blonde woman than Regina's magic was. Unfortunately for him, he did not wish to ally himself with her, and Maleficent took offense to that.

She always was such a sensitive soul.

They had a very in-depth discussion on compatible magic that day. Their own was a rare find, for it was indeed unusual for magic from two separate casters to entwine as cooperatively as theirs did. The man in the dungeons worked better for Maleficent, but now that he had refused her, he was… indisposed. A popular (but largely unconfirmed, aside from a few suspect written accounts) theory on compatible magic was that the pinnacle of magical compatibility ended in what was termed as complementary magic. Magic that was entirely balanced in strength and flavor, and flowed freely and interchangeably between the two users in question, heightening their power to otherwise unachievable levels.

Regina had scoffed at the idea then; she was certain that such a thing was impossible. Natural magic was a very personal thing. It existed as almost a second entity within the person born with it, and was both fueled and driven by their most passionate emotions. Regina's magic was a manifestation of the deepest and most secret parts of herself, and the same was true for every being born with arcane powers. That being said, the mere _closeness _implied by the very thought of sharing complementary magic with another person was just… strange, and quite honestly somewhat unsettling, regardless of how impossible it seemed to someone who had only –outside of Maleficent—been repelled by the natural magic of others.

But Regina wasn't scoffing anymore, because she'd just experienced the very thing she'd once expressed disbelief in when Emma had come to her aid. Malefecent would probably have been able to do the same for her, were she there at the time, but Regina knew she would not have recovered from the physical symptoms of magical exhaustion half as quickly. Moreover, she wouldn't have had such perfect control over the borrowed magic.

_Powerful_ magic. Regina could taste it. Of all the magic users she had encountered over the years, only the Dark One and herself would be able to rival Emma's power.

Which begged the question –why was this beautiful, powerful creature languishing about in her castle and attending to her as a handmaiden?

The tavern girl from Lyon was no ordinary tavern girl. But then again, Regina _did_ acquire her shortly after watching her slaughter three bandits armed with only a dagger. She could hardly be accused of expecting normality from the blonde. But skill with a dagger was one thing. This… hidden, powerful magic… was a completely different animal. It was dangerous.

And it infuriated her. Because Regina actually _liked_ this girl, but she'd apparently been lying to her all along. Well, more than what she'd initially assumed, anyways.

This room was bigger than the servants' quarters. It was bare still, but that was more due to the fact that it was unlived in than purposeful minimalism. After she'd had Emma carried in and placed on the bed, Regina had sent the footmen attending her away, leaving the two of them alone in oppressive silence. Still unconscious and very pale, Emma looked so very small splayed limply on the bed. A few stray golden curls had escaped her now customary bun and coiled gently around her face, and Regina couldn't help but once more note that her handmaiden was an _exquisite_ creature. All strong cheekbones and delicate lips and lovely golden tresses. A beautiful mystery. Carefully, Regina swept towards the girl, leaned down, and laid her palm flat against a porcelain cheek. Emma's soft skin was chilled and somewhat clammy to the touch, telling Regina that the other woman still suffered from the depletion of her magic.

She didn't understand. Why? Why did Emma go to so much trouble to hide such powerful magic, only to reveal herself in a way that was so very harmful to her own body? Why give Regina the magic instead of making use of it herself? Why resign herself to the life of a servant when she had the power to be so much more? When –based upon her literacy, political savvy, and mannerisms—she had been _born_ more?

Regina had taken Emma in because she was interesting. She'd never anticipated such a grand puzzle as _this,_ though.

Frowning, the Queen's attention was drawn once more to the blood seeping through the bandages of Emma's wrists. Her hands had stilled in the process of unwrapping them when she'd been lost in thought. Scars, Emma had told her. Given to her by her mother.

Scars didn't bleed though.

As soon as she removed the linens however, Regina felt some of her questions had finally been answered, even as her stomach roiled in a nauseated sort of way at the sight that greeted her in a mixture of horror, anger, and pity. What had been done to Emma –and Regina had little doubt that this had been _inflicted_—was really quite grotesque, even by _her_ standards. (And she was the Evil Queen.)

Around Emma's wrists were clasped two plain silver bracelets, perhaps an inch wide. They were, upon first inspection, quite ordinary. Just twin silver bands innocuously adorning the body of a beautiful woman, plain and smooth but for a single thin etching of a square atop each. But Regina could sense the magic. She could see that these were no innocent ornaments, but shackles. Not in the physical sense, of course, but magically.

It made sense now, that Regina had never felt Emma leaking magic. It was trapped within her as surely as the prisoners in her dungeon were chained to the walls. Magic could not truly be contained, of course, which is why Emma had still been able to transfer the energy over to her Queen despite her limitations. However, a heavy price could always be exacted for its use, which made the binding of magic possible in its own way.

And what Regina was seeing now were the results of just such a procedure.

Emma hadn't quite lied. There _were_ scars. Old scars, layered over by new ones. Deep enough to appear white and lumpy all around the silver bands and stretched lengthwise, as if her arms had grown significantly even after she'd gotten them. But there were fresh lacerations just beneath the metal as well. The cuffs had burned deep into Emma's pale flesh, leaving raw, open wounds around their girths that oozed droplets of blood like tears, and Regina suddenly felt an overpowering urge to light Emma's mother on fire.

_My mother gave them to me_.

Regina understood why Emma was content to be a handmaiden in that moment. She still remembered the agonized scream the blonde had produced as she'd forced the magic past the inhibitors and into Regina's depleted body. These cuffs were no crude work of an amateur, and she had little doubt that the pain they inflicted in punishment of pushing the magic past them was nothing less than utterly excruciating. No one could perform more than the most minor of magic in conditions like that. Emma had been effectively neutered, and at a very young age if her scarring was any indication, which was truly a shame. Emma was so powerful, and the feel of her magic…

Regina shuddered pleasantly at the memory.

Emma's magic was perhaps even more exquisite than her body, or even her mind. And now that Regina had had a taste of it, she wasn't pleased to find such bindings upon the other woman. No, this wouldn't do, Regina decided, dropping Emma's cold hand back down onto the mattress and taking a step back. With a snap of her fingers, she was engulfed by a violet mist and teleported into her quarters. Emma's magic was simply too intoxicating to be locked away like this, she decided.

Regina _very much _wanted to experience it again. And she would. She was a Queen.

And Queens _always_ got what they wanted.

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**A/N: Happy belated Mother's day! Give your mom a hug today, guys.**


	9. Chapter 9: Emma

**A/N: So sorry for the delay! I've been swamped with a large helping of personal and family drama, and there's been a few too many tears to write properly. Still, I'm really excited for this chapter, and I hope you all love reading it as much as I loved writing it!**

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The Handmaiden's Philosophy  
Chapter Nine

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_Twelve years ago..._

_Emma's POV_

"Oh, Leopold. You look so very droll. Are you not enjoying yourself, brother?" Emmaline asked sweetly, tossing her carefully stylized golden curls and grinning at her younger sibling who trudged dutifully by her side. They made a handsome pair, walking side by side, as they were very close in age and were near enough in size to pass as twins, not to mention physically similar in nearly every other respect as well. Were the Prince's dirty blonde locks kept longer, or were his older sister to exchange her puffy blue gown for a tunic and trousers, they would be nearly indistinguishable in the youthful way that siblings often are, with their soft cheeks, immature bodies, and identical colorations.

Aside from these similarities, however, Emmaline and Leopold could not be more different. Leopold was a calm child. Studious, chivalrous, and dutiful. Emmaline would call that boring, were she able to do so aloud without fear of reprimand. (Though this did not prevent her from _thinking _it, when her brother refused to play or sneak or otherwise participate in her much-loved shenanigans.) The Princess of the Silverwoods was an adventurous spirit, much like her mother had been in her youth (or so her godmother Red insisted). Though she was confined to the castle grounds at all times, this did not stop the child from running off to explore and play by herself, even when she was intended to be sitting with her tutors or attending her needlework, as was befitting a woman of her birth.

And yet despite all of that… it was Emmaline's dearest wish to be like Leopold. The siblings did not interact much outside of meals and the occasional shared lesson, but that didn't mean the girl didn't love her younger brother dearly. Boring or not, he was her _brother_, and he had always been kind to her if not a little distant. And Leopold… it was nearly impossible not to love him. He was nothing short of perfect, really. A beautiful, well-behaved, charming Prince that their parents doted upon.

He was everything Emmaline was not. Though the Princess had not yet reached her ninth Name Day, and despite any other flaws, she had never been accused of being unintelligent. Her parents looked upon her brother with more fondness than they did her, she knew. It was painfully obvious really. This behavior wasn't always uncalled for though, she could concede, as Emmaline was well aware that she was not as perfect as her brother was. She had always been criticized far more heavily than he, after all, which was probably indicative of just how often she failed, and she was constantly disappointing her parents and tutors with her wild tendencies. Emmaline supposed that this record of less than satisfactory behavior was why she had been confined to the castle and its surrounding town from a very young age, and why she had to wear her special bracelets that punished her when she got too sad or angry. Once, Emmaline had asked her mother why she and Father always looked afraid when her special bracelets reminded her to behave as a Princess should. Mother had told her that they were simply afraid that she would never learn to be a lady, and didn't like to be reminded of her need for correction.

Sometimes, Emmaline thought that they were lying when they said that. But most of all, she just wished that the King and Queen would look upon her with the same unburdened love in their eyes as they did every day to her brother. She tried so _very _hard to be good. She did. Truly. But she _always_ managed to somehow mess it up.

Emmaline wished she could be like Leopold.

Today was special though. Emmaline's dancing instructor had given a glowing report of her improved skill to her parents, and they were so pleased with her that they'd offered her a reward. Immediately, Emmaline had requested that her brother accompany her on a trip into the castletown on market day.

That was today. The royal siblings had arrived early that morning with eight of the Palace Guard in tow, and had been wandering the bustling streets together for hours yet beneath their watchful eye. Emmaline was over the moon with joy at the rare trip outside of the castle grounds, but Leopold was visibly bored with the scene. Hence her earlier question.

"I don't understand why you like this place, sister," Leopold answered her with a roll of his blue-green eyes, breaking his sister from her musings. "It is crowded and dirty, and certainly no different than it was from the last time we visited."

The pair –encircled by their guards—was walking sedately down one of the many dirt roads lined by open-air stalls manned by crudely dressed peasants peddling their goods. Occasionally, they would stop and inspect one of the offerings, but they rarely purchased anything. (After all, they were provided with anything and everything their hearts could desire at the palace. Buying sub-par duplicates of what they already owned would be rather pointless.) Still, Emmaline enjoyed the experience. Enjoyed the liveliness, and the change, despite the bows and stares she was constantly subjected to by the passerby.

She shook her head at her brother's summarization of the situation. "Do you not find it lovely?" she asked of him curiously. She honestly couldn't understand her brother's apathy towards the people they shared their world with. "It is so very different from home. So lively and gay. There are new people and sights and smells to see and touch and taste, here. Is it not an exciting change from routine?"

Leopold scoffed. "There is nothing exciting here," he said firmly, full of the wisdom of a young boy. "No knights, nor fine horses… and I find the smell distasteful. You always claim yourself unhappy with being left behind whilst Mother and Father and I travel, but each place we go is the same. Commoners doing common things. You'd be bored too, if you came."

"I still wish to see the world for myself, brother," Emmaline admitted with a scowl of displeasure as they made a turn and set off down another street. This one, at least, was slightly less crowded.

"Mother and Father said that it isn't safe for you to travel with us, sister," Leopold reminded her, having witnessed her beg their parents many times to allow her to accompany them on their journeys. They always asked that she remained safely at the palace no matter what tactics she tried, and the boy was well acquainted with their proclaimed reasoning for the decision. "They do not wish for you to be harmed."

Emmaline's plump pink child's-lips pulled down into a heartbreaking frown. "I know," she muttered. "Yet I am the eldest of the two of us. Why is it that you are safe, and yet I am not?"

The blonde Prince shrugged, not having an answer to provide her with. They continued on in silence, Leopold still bored and Emmaline brooding. They were soon distracted, however, by a call of greeting by one of the peddlers. She was an old woman with shiny silver hair and laugh lines around her eyes, perched neatly upon a stool situated in front of a cart loaded with oranges.

"Hail, Your Highnesses!" she cried, brandishing a fruit clutched in her weathered hand in their general direction. "Allow my to gift you with a sample of my wares, to ease the heat of a hot day."

Immediately, Leopold donned a charming grin and accepted the gift, moving past the circle of guards as they parted for him. He'd always a fondness for citrus. "My thanks, good woman. Your thoughtfulness is much appreciated."

Emmaline held up a quelling hand before the old woman could retrieve a second fruit. "My thanks as well, but I do not care for oranges," she refuted politely.

The old woman seemed genuinely distressed by this for a moment before she perked up and snagged a satchel that had been lying by her feet. "Fear not, Your Highness," she assured the Princess, unclasping the bag and rifling through what appeared to be a ration of salted pork before withdrawing a red fruit the likes of which Emmaline had never seen before. "Fortunately I have not yet taken my midday meal. Perhaps you would care for an apple instead?"

The reaction was immediate. Their guards –who previously had been as bored as their Prince by their surroundings—suddenly snapped to attention, and the nearest one reached out and slapped the crimson fruit from the old woman's hand before the girl could even think to ask what an apple even _was_ while two others moved to seize her by her upper arms. The remaining guards yanked their two diminutive young charges back into the safety of their encircling presence.

"Treason!" the first guard snarled at the old woman in his comrades' grasp. Her eyes were wide and pleading, and she looked terrified.

"_Please_," she begged, flicking her eyes to Emmaline briefly, then to the man addressing her before returning her gaze to the girl. "Your Highness. I meant no harm. I—"

"Silence, witch!" he cut her off. The guard then addressed the two holding her in place. "Take her to the castle dungeons," he ordered. They complied, frog-marching the old orange peddler away.

Emmaline was stunned. She did not know what an apple was, but from they way the fruit rested innocuously in the dirt at her feet, it didn't _seem_ harmful. She was fairly certain that the old woman was simply attempting to show her Princess kindness, and it upset her greatly that she was treated so poorly because of this. "Guard, what is the meaning of this?" she demanded as the armored men assigned to her and her brother's protection began herding them back to the safety of the palace, ignoring how the entirety of the market street had gone still and silent. The Princess could feel the frightened and angry eyes of the people on her with every step she took, and she didn't like it.

Leopold was curious too, she could tell. Despite the fact that he had not vocalized his displeasure with the entire scenario, he was eyeing the guard in the calculating sort of way that she'd seen their mother regard the occasional visiting dignitary from countries they weren't formally allied with.

"Apples are banned in the Silverwoods," the man explained with a shrug. "The peasants still eat them from time to time when they aren't in view of a member of the guard, but to offer an apple to the member of the royal family is high treason. Punishable by lifelong imprisonment or death."

Horrified at the thought of the kind old woman suffering such a sorry fate simply because Emmaline did not care for oranges, the girl made to protest, but a light touch on the arm from her brother stopped her words in her throat. Instead, she allowed herself to be led back to the palace in silence. She knew Leopold wanted to wait and discuss this with their parents, and once she stopped to think about it, she really did have to agree that it would be the best course of action. Surely the King and Queen would have an explanation for what happened today that actually made _sense_, wouldn't they?

As it turned out, they didn't.

Well, not one that Emmaline agreed with anyways. Not that her opinion actually mattered.

Upon their arrival at the castle, Emmaline and Leopold had been ushered into their mother's favorite drawing room to wait. Perhaps ten minutes later, the King and Queen of the Silverwoods rushed into the room, hugged their two fair-haired children tightly, and peppered their faces with kisses. Emmaline wasn't sure if they meant to comfort them from an apparently traumatic experience, or if they were really only comforting themselves after learning that one of their children had been offered an apple. A seemingly harmless fruit that clearly carried a heavy symbolism.

So Emmaline and Leopold had asked their parents to explain.

Emmaline knew the story of the Evil Queen well. Before she retired to bed each night, her parents would often regale she and her brother with laudable tales of their many heroic adventures and quests to thwart the horrible, jealous Evil Queen who hated love and happiness and wanted to destroy everyone who had ever been good. Emmaline knew that the Evil Queen had, at one point, put her mother under a sleeping curse that was eventually broken by the kiss of her father. What she had not known, however, was that this curse was delivered via apple. After initiating the Treaty that had banished the Evil Queen to the Dark Realm of the Summerlands where she could no longer bring harm to the people living within the pure forests of the Silverwoods , King James and Queen Snow had not only declared the practice of magic to be illegal and Evil, but prohibited the growth, sale, and consumption of apples in the Silverlands in remembrance of this famous curse.

"I do not understand, Mother," Emmaline finally stated after taking a few silent moments to absorb this explanation for the treatment the old woman had received at the market that day. "The Evil Queen was the evil one, not the apple. Why should we force the peasants to be hungry when we are throwing away food? If you hold on to your fear, you are letting the Evil Queen win even now, are you not?"

Because, to Emmaline, fearing apples because you were put under a sleeping curse made as little sense as fearing a garden because you were stung by a bee.

Her parents did not share this opinion, and frowned at her in such a way that implied they could not understand that their logic was in any way questionable. Emmaline wasn't certain if she should feel offended at the implications of those looks or simply very foolish for questioning her elders.

"The people need hope, Emmaline," her mother replied, speaking very slowly and clearly while reaching over and squeezing the Princess' hands, as if to ensure her concentration. From beside her, her father just scoffed at the question. "We banned apples so that no one _ever_ forgets that evil is not tolerated in our kingdom, and that we will keep our people safe from the Evil Queen and others like her."

"Like people with magic?" Leopold offered, nodding his head thoughtfully. He was clearly mulling over the explanation provided, though he seemed generally satisfied with it even though Emmaline was not. Their father was gazing at him proudly, his smile of approval making his face practically glow with the emotion as he looked upon his son.

She wished she could be like Leopold.

"Exactly," the King confirmed. "Magic is evil. It can corrupt even the best of people, which is why those who have it must be stopped."

Emmaline frowned and stared down to where her hands were folded demurely in her lap, as she had been taught to hold them. "But… are not my bracelets magic?" she asked, baffled. If magic was evil, why did she have to touch it? She didn't want to be evil. She wanted to be good. Mother said the bracelets would make her a better Princess even though they hurt, but they were clearly magic, and magic was evil.

For the first time during the conversation, her parents seemed uncomfortable with the subject matter. They shifted in their seats before stilling, and shared a lingering glance between them even as Emmaline stiffened in alarm at their hesitant body language and Leopold cast her a frightened look.

"Your special bracelets aren't evil," the Queen finally told her with a saccharine smile that oozed insincerity. "They _stop_ magic."

"I… I don't understand," Emmaline stammered, blue-green eyes wide.

Her mother sighed. "Sometimes, children are cursed with magic when they are born," she explained delicately. "If the magic is not stopped, it will turn them evil. Emmaline… your special bracelets take away the magic you were cursed with at birth. They are not evil. They will stop you from _ever_ being evil, do you understand, my love? You have nothing to fear."

The little blonde blanched, the blood draining from her face as her stomach abruptly twisted itself into a painful knot. It couldn't be… She wasn't born evil, was she? But the idea that she was born with magic suddenly made a _sickening_ amount of sense. It explained some of her vague early childhood impressions and dreams of light bursting from her hands. It explained the special bracelets her parents had asked her to wear so many years ago and the searing pain that was inflicted upon her by them if her emotions got the better of her. It explained the delightful warmth that sometimes tingled inside of her like sunshine if she called to it. It explained why she had never been allowed out of the castle, and why it sometimes felt like her parents loved Leopold more than they loved her. Because it was true. He was _better_ than her. He was good, and she was… not.

Why? Why had she been cursed like this? Was she born this way, or made this way by some unnamed enemy? What had she done wrong to have magic? Would her special bracelets really stop her from becoming evil, as her mother promised? She'd never liked them. They hurt her. But if she was evil, then she deserved to be hurt, didn't she? Had Emmaline done something evil as a baby that had forced her parents to find the special bracelets? Where did they even _get _them? She was afraid. So afraid. She felt like her own body had betrayed her by being magic. Her parents hated magic. It was evil. She didn't want her parents to hate her. She'd had eight years of their love, and had no interest in losing it now. And why did it have to be _her_? Why not Leopold?

Oh, how Emmaline wished she was like Leopold.

Emmaline burst into tears, and none of her family members said anything. They just watched. And Emmaline couldn't find it within herself to blame them for it.

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**A/N: Poor baby Emma! This chapter is an important part of understanding their family dynamic though, and it'll be important to know this later on. So power through guys, and please feel free to drop a review for me! Kisses!**


	10. Chapter 10: Emma

**A/N: So sorry for the wait! I went on a two-week vacation to Maine, and I brought my laptop with every intention to get some writing and posting done, but I forgot to bring my charger. So I was kind of suffering withdrawal for the entire time I was there, since my laptop was essentially about as useful as a paperweight. On the bright side, Maine is kind of adorable (even if it is freezing cold) and my cousin got married without anything awful happening besides his sister both getting me drunk and teaching me how to smoke cigars. (Gross, by the way. I felt like Wolverine for about two seconds before I decided that I don't like the taste of ass.)**

**So... I edited this in a bit of a rush, is the moral of that story. But I hope you'll like it anyways!**

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The Handmaiden's Philosophy  
Chapter Ten

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When Emma blinked her way sluggishly into the waking world, the first thing she registered was the soreness of her body. She wasn't in too much pain, but the sensation was still lurking within her muscles and in the back of her mind, as if she'd only just recovered from a particularly nasty fever. This was unusual, as Emma generally had excellent health and moreover did not actually recall being ill in the first place. It was also somewhat disconcerting to find that she didn't recognize the chamber she was resting in. Judging by the austere ambiance, Emma theorized that she was resting somewhere within Queen Regina's palace, but she had never seen this part of it in person before. She didn't remember how she'd gotten here.

Blue-green eyes flew open from their sleepy, hooded state as her brain finally began to process her memories of the return trip.

The carriage ride. Poetry. Flying monkeys. Screaming. Blood. _The Queen_. Magic. Pain. Pain. _Pain_.

Emma exhaled shakily. "Gods…" she whimpered to herself. She'd never experienced anything quite like _that_ before.

Groaning, the woman heaved herself up into a sitting position and took stock of herself. Aside from the moderate soreness of her muscles, she felt quite well. The bed she'd been placed upon was both larger and softer than the one in her assigned chambers, and though she was still dressed, her cloak and shoes had been removed and stacked neatly upon a nearby dressing table. The light filtering in from between the curtains that were drawn loosely over the solitary window indicated that it was sometime around mid-morning. Emma crinkled her nose in distaste. It was a little startling to realize that she'd been unconscious for the entire afternoon and evening –but then, she _had_ known that magical exhaustion was dangerous and very hard upon a caster's body. It was one of the reasons she'd run to help her Queen, after all.

At the thought, Emma cringed and allowed her upper body to fall back onto the bed. The Queen.

Clearly, the transfer of magic had worked, and the brunette had both recovered from her state of exhaustion and had defeated the two remaining armored flying monkeys. (Emma pushed the thought of said beasts firmly to the back of her mind, unwilling to think upon how, or even_ why_, such distasteful things existed.) Seeing as she was not currently languishing in the smallest cell of the Evil Queen's darkest dungeons, Emma felt it safe to assume that the woman was not _too_ infuriated by what she'd presumed to do: but she by no means felt comfortable with the woman knowing she had magic, and had furthermore hidden that ability.

Though really, her comfort didn't matter at this point. She _knew_, and there was nothing Emma could do to change that.

Hesitantly, the blonde raised her hands to her face so that she could inspect her wrists. Curiously enough, she felt very little pain there, which was obviously wrong. She recalled quite clearly the damage that the inhibitors had inflicted upon her as punishment for using her magic. Therefore, she was unsurprised to find that the wounds had been expertly tended to. She could smell the herbal paste that had been applied to prevent both pain and rot, and admired the professional quality of the dressings. It wasn't easy to work around the metal inhibitors, she knew from experience. Hopefully, these most recent wounds wouldn't scar as badly as she'd first assumed they would.

It was worth noting though, that the Queen had most definitely inspected the inhibitors if she'd ordered the wounds attended to. And if that was the case, then Emma had no doubt the woman was aware of the exact nature of the 'special bracelets' she'd been trapped by for nearly her entire life. The Evil Queen was, after all, rumored to be the single most knowledgeable and powerful practitioner of magic after the Dark One. She was no fool.

The better question would be if the Queen would be able to put the pieces together and discover any of Emma's _other_ secrets. Since she was still alive and in only a small amount of pain, the blonde could be reasonably sure that her former identity as the Princess of the Silverwoods had remained undiscovered thus far, at least. This was no guarantee for the future, however. It was depressing to think about, actually. Emma greatly admired and respected her Queen both professionally and –more so—personally, and it would devastate her if her identity was discovered and she became the target of the woman's sincere ire. She could only hope that the brunette would exercise restraint when (and it _was_ 'when') the information came to light, and refrained from torturing or killing her. Emma would be shattered, she knew, to have lost the one person she was closest to in the world in such a way.

The fact that that person was the same Evil Queen who murdered her grandfather, spent years attempting to do the same to her parents, most likely would happily continue the trend with Emma herself, and had a history of generally terrorizing anyone who got in her way was an issue she would address at a later date. Preferably never.

"Take care not to injure yourself, trying to think so hard," a sultry voice commented dryly from beside her.

Emma's heart nearly gave out from the shock, and she jumped rather violently in place before jerking her gaze towards the person who'd spoken to her. The Queen was standing at her bedside –resplendent as always, in spite of Emma's current inability to help make her so—and was regarding her with some amusement. She hadn't been there a moment ago, and the blonde could only assume the woman had transported herself into these chambers via magic. Hastily, Emma struggled to sit up and stand, but was stilled by a sharp command to stay. She instead opted to dip her head respectfully with a murmured 'My Queen' as a greeting and arrange herself primly sitting on the edge of the bed, uncomfortably aware of how terrible she must look at the moment.

For a long moment, the Queen just stared at her, familiar dark eyes scanning back and forth over Emma's pale features. Then, she simply stated, "You have magic."

Emma dipped her head in acknowledgement. "Yes," she ceded. No point in trying to hide it now. And in the Summerlands, at least, the skill alone wouldn't earn her a death sentence.

"You were fitted with inhibitors very young," came the next observation.

"I was three," the blonde confirmed calmly. The Queen reacted best to calm, she'd found, and Emma very much wanted a calm Queen at the moment.

Beautiful brown eyes widened slightly, and a jaw was clenched tightly for a moment before it was released. "You are very powerful, to force your magic past them."

Emma shrugged lightly. "I wouldn't know," she offered. "And it matters little. I will never be able to use magic properly, regardless of how powerful I am."

The Queen appeared to ignore that statement. "Given your age at the time, I assume you were telling the truth when you said the scars on your wrists were given to you by my mother? You were certainly too young to request this for yourself."

At this question, Emma winced slightly. She was well aware that her emotions were playing more clearly over her features than she would typically permit, but it also seemed the safest option at this point. The Queen hated liars. "She made the request and ultimate decision to have my powers bound, yes," she sighed.

"Why?" was the immediate follow-up.

A very good question indeed. One that would have to be handled delicately. It wouldn't do well to inform the Queen that she'd so effectively traumatized her stepdaughter that she couldn't stand the very _thought_ of magic in her life, much less her daughter, after all. That would only result in awkward questions and Emma's possible death.

"I was born in the Silverwoods," Emma confessed after a beat of silence. "I assume you are aware of what happens to people with magic there?"

A derisive and disgusted sneer was answer enough.

"My parents hoped to rid me of my powers, and my mother called upon the Dark One to help her."

At this, the Queen appeared faintly alarmed. Her eyes flashed, and her fists clenched tensely at her sides. "And the price of this barbarism?" she demanded.

Now it was Emma's turn to clench her fists. "My name," she responded curtly. She didn't know what the Dark One did with the names he collected. Frankly, she had little desire to find out. She hoped it was irrelevant now anyways, as the imp had vanished without a trace somewhere around her fifth Name Day and had yet to appear in any of the known realms again. Still, she'd never really gotten over how recklessly her parents had endangered her by agreeing to the Dark One's price, all for the sake of taking away a gift that was a part of her.

Silence descended as the Queen paused to absorb this information. The lines of her face were tense with a strange combination of anger and greed, and Emma wasn't quite sure what to make of it. She opted instead to wait upon the Queen's response.

Unsurprisingly, it didn't take too long. "Emma is not your name," the Queen said with a strange sort of sad smile.

Emma returned the gesture. It was odd, the amalgamation of guilt and sorrow and understanding and resignation and grudging admiration that was passing between them, but she didn't question it. It was best, she'd found, never to question her interactions with the Queen. "It is not the name I was born with, no," she clarified, "but it is the name I chose for myself. It has been a great many years since I have tolerated being addressed as anything but 'Emma' or occasionally 'Swan'. I do not wish to be known by a name that belongs to the man who helped do this to me."

This, Emma felt, Queen Regina would definitely understand and respect.

As predicted, the brunette dipped her head in acknowledgement of this desire, the stress lines around her eyes softening knowingly, before moving on to another point.

Though Emma admittedly never expected the point that she moved on to.

"If you wish it, I can remove the inhibitors and free your magic," the Queen stated bluntly.

And Emma's world stopped, her breath stuttering to a halt in her chest somewhat painfully.

For a very long time after learning of her magic, the blonde Princess had hated herself. She'd thrown herself into her duties and studies. She'd dressed impeccably and learned to sew and sing and play the harp. She'd smiled, and shown aggressive kindness towards anything with a pulse, and made any and every effort to be the epitome of a 'good' Princess. _Anything_ to atone for the seductive darkness that she felt lurked inside her like a sleeping demon, tainting her with its evil.

And she'd never been so miserable in her life.

But one day, at the age of thirteen, Emma had discovered something that had changed her life. A book. A _magic_ book.

It hadn't been with the other books on magic. Emma had avoided _that_ area of the library like the plague. Instead, she'd found it in the section on healing. Because that's what the book was. Healing magic. Magic that saved lives.

Magic that was _good_.

Emma, despite her fear, had read it cover to cover, and then read it again. Much of the content was difficult for her to understand, as she lacked even a basic understanding of magic aside from the knowledge that it was evil, but she understood enough. She understood that while healing magic did have a price just like other magic, it wasn't often unreasonable. She understood in that moment that magic was capable of good that well-wishes and honeyed words simply couldn't match.

From that day forward, Emma had devoured every bit of knowledge on magic –dark, light, and everything in between—as she could possibly acquire without alerting her parents to her newfound interest in magic. (Which, incidentally, was quite a bit, as they paid her little mind when she wasn't stirring up mischief.) The more she learned, the easier it was for Emma to stop hating herself for something she couldn't control and instead make a concerted effort to move past the hate and fear that had been instilled in her from the moment she was capable of understanding such concepts. And eventually, she'd _mourned_ the loss of her magic. Grieved for the potential for greatness that once was, but never would be agian.

Except… now it _could_. Her Queen was offering her magic back as if it were nothing. But really, it was_ everything_. It was akin to offering an amputee the return of a limb he'd never thought to feel again, much less regain use of.

For a moment, Emma wondered if one of the flying monkeys had actually killed her and this was some twisted version of the afterlife. It seemed more likely.

Because she could _get her magic back_.

Emma wanted to cry. As it was, her eyes grew suspiciously bright and she began blinking furiously up at the woman who had just graduated from Queen to Goddess in her eyes. "You…" Her voice was hoarse with emotion. "You can –and would—do that for me?" she queried tremulously.

For a split second, the Queen appeared slightly unsure of how to handle such a sincere expression of adoration coming from a person whom she'd actually earned –and not demanded—it from. She regained her composure quickly though. "I have a condition," she warned her sharply. When she received a swift motion of acknowledgement, she continued. "Before I free you, you must agree to become one of the castle's apprentice mages," the brunette commanded. "I will not be responsible for the disaster you would become without proper control over your magic, and you _will_ be taught."

Emma fought very hard to contain the surge of joy she felt at this offer. Not only would she regain her powers, but she would also learn how to _use_ them. She could hardly believe her sudden good fortune. "I understand and agree, my Queen," she murmured solemnly instead, biting her lip against the happy tears that were welling in her eyes. She felt almost dizzy with her sudden and well-earned jubilation.

The Queen smirked in approval. "Very well then," she said simply, extending her hands out in front of her, palms up. "Your wrists, if you will."

Trembling in anticipation, Emma obeyed and placed her bound wrists in the woman's grasp. Her dressings immediately vanished in twin puffs of purple, leaving the pair of silver bands and accompanying wounds exposed to the open air. The Queen's face pinched in extreme concentration as she regarded the inhibitors, muttering a continuous stream of what Emma tentatively identified as some form of elvish. Quite suddenly (or at least it seemed so to Emma) the woman flared her nostrils and exhaled sharply, sending a powerful jolt of magic from her palms and into the bracelets. There was no visible reaction at first, but as she continued, the previously silver metal began to glow a bright violet, and Emma winced as a curious sensation of cold began to crawl up her arms. It didn't hurt, per say; but like immersing herself in ice water, Emma didn't exactly find it comfortable. This continued until the chill had enveloped her from head to toe, crawling over her skin like so many glaciers, and she was shivering violently.

And without warning, the silver inhibitors just… cracked open, and shattered, like broken glass, leaving her scarred and raw wrists bare for the first time that Emma could even remember. The Queen withdrew her magic, followed by her hands, and Emma felt warm again.

But more than that: for the first time in seventeen years, her own magic was _free_. Emma lost no time in calling it to the surface to test the boundaries of her newly cuff-less body. Her hands were lit with a pale blue glow, sparks dancing from her fingertips as Emma studied her previously mundane appendages with awe. It looked beautiful. It _felt_ beautiful.

This time, Emma _did_ cry, allowing a few silent tears to slip down her cheeks. "Thank you…" she breathed. Words didn't quite seem an adequate medium for her to express her gratitude towards her Queen, but she supposed that they'd have to do for now. If she hadn't been completely and utterly devoted to this woman before, she surely was now. Emma could never repay Queen Regina for the gift that she had given her, but in that moment, she vowed to try.

"Do not thank me just yet," the Queen purred, curling a soft finger beneath the blonde's chin and tugging her head slightly so that they were properly facing each other. The woman appeared unbearably smug, but Emma supposed she had a right to be. "We have work to do."


	11. Chapter 11: Regina

**A/N: Hi guys! I started a new job (because I'm being a productive adult who is a meaningful part of society and all that) and it has a killer commute, so it's been a bit nuts lately in my world, but that's not super relevant to all of you. Just felt like sharing. In other news, I won't be posting another chapter for a couple of weeks because I'm going to be busy writing my stuff for Swan Queen Week. Updates will resume afterwards. :)**

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The Handmaiden's Philosophy  
Chapter Eleven

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_Regina's POV_

Emma was a good student. And Regina would know, as she had had the dubious pleasure of tutoring a grand total of four people in the art of magic during her lifetime, not including her handmaiden. Her first student, Vincent, was a teenaged squire she'd caught practicing levitation in the palace gardens not six months after the Treaty was signed. She'd taught him how to read, how to utilize the basic mathematics required for complex spells and potions, and how to properly access his magic. While not especially powerful or even skilled for that matter, as the first –and only fully human—member of her palace mages, Vincent was the de facto leader of the group whenever Regina herself was not present. He was a genial man, and a calming presence to those who feared magic: a good public face for both soldier and citizen alike, many of which rightly feared magic and those who wielded it. Her second two pupils were the half-elf bastard daughters of one of her noblemen and his late mistress sent into the Queen's care at the ages of twelve and nine respectively, six years after her discovery of Vincent, when they began manifesting powers that their father did not know how to control. Lyra and Myka were the most powerful of Regina's magic users –and the only ones she hadn't had to teach basic reading, writing, and arithmetic to—but were fairly reclusive and generally unpleasant towards anyone aside from themselves and their coworkers. Dur, another half-elf that she'd picked up when passing through a small village, was already fully grown when Regina had taken it upon herself to hone his powers. He wasn't particularly good at magic in general, but he was an excellent healer and herbalist. There was value in that, and so Regina kept him on her staff with the others.

Her mages were valuable in a great many capacities. In wartime, obviously, they would be highly prized assets. But they were useful in peacetime as well. A great many mundane tasks could be solved with magic, and a great many unusual tasks could as well. This was part of the reason why the Dark One had made such lucrative business with his deals. Those without magic always wanted a magical solution to their problems. Regina's powers were no secret from her subjects, and she found that she was often asked to grant magical boons to those in need. She was far from a patient woman, however, and had little time (or desire) to personally tend to each and every peasant that asked for her help. Most of their petty problems were beneath her.

This was what she often used her mages for. They did magic when Regina didn't want to.

She'd liked teaching them. (Though she'd never admit to that.) Regina's methods could be… harsh, but none could ever contest that they were effective. Her students either performed adequately when she placed them in precarious positions, or they suffered the consequences of failure. So they learned what Regina taught them. And it felt good, to share that knowledge, even if it was harshly. It was how Regina herself had learned, after all.

But Emma was her favorite pupil by far. Sheer potential aside, and complementary magic (that never became less glorious to indulge herself in) aside as well, the blonde was eager to learn and even more eager to please. Regina was pleasantly surprised to note that Emma was suspiciously well read in more than just poetry. The woman had an excellent grasp on a wide range of magical theory, which saved her the tedium of assigning literature for study as she had for her previous students as well as lengthy explanations full of details, rather than the general overview she got away with providing instead. It also made for some rather fascinating discussions on the nature of magic itself: such as the difference between 'light' and 'dark' magics and between their applications in spells, curses, and enchantments, as well as the nature of magic within differing species. When it came to actual casting, she was again pleased to find that Emma was already proficient with small spells, such as lighting candles and unlocking doors. Without needing to instruct the blonde on the basics of casting, Regina was able to skip straight to the fun parts. Combat magics, enchanting objects, conjurations, and other assorted useful skills.

Emma's favorite had been switching spells. Once Regina had helped her to master the art of transporting objects and people from one place to another, the woman had no end of fun making sure nothing in her general vicinity was where it was supposed to be. It was annoying, especially when Regina was attempting to teach the woman potions; but to her eternal shame, she never once snapped at the would-be prankster. Because Emma would laugh and smile at her own little jokes and her dancing blue-green eyes and wide white smile and bright chuckles were probably amongst the most beautiful things that Regina had ever experienced.

It was a bit of a mess, really.

Regina had always been unusually fond of this particular handmaiden. The moment she took Emma as her student, however… things changed. The Queen just couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing. She knew that Emma was still hiding things. Though the blonde was full to the brim with humorous anecdotes from her time working in the tavern in Lyon, she never talked about the time before that. Regina wasn't sure when exactly Emma had fled the Silverwoods and arrived in the Summerlands, and as such was uncertain as to how much of Emma's life story she was actually missing, but she did wonder what aspect of it was so awful that she would wish to forget it entirely. She wondered after Emma's real name, and her previous circumstances in life. Even her age. Emma always had been Regina's favorite puzzle, but more than that, Regina found herself appreciating the woman for more than the mystery she represented. Emma was an amusing mess of secrets, but with each secret revealed, Regina's interest only grew.

It was entirely improper. At first, Regina assumed that her affinity for the blonde was one borne of attraction. Emma was, first and foremost, a lovely creature; and Regina was no stranger to wanting a lovely woman in her bed. She was rather well known, in fact, for taking whomever she wanted whenever she wanted it.

But not Emma. That was when she realized (with some horror) that she genuinely _cared_ for her newest pupil. Regina simply couldn't bring herself to take the blonde into her bed and use her before sending her away again, just like she would do (and had done) to anyone else she felt desire for. Regina wasn't sure what it was about Emma that made her so special, but she was. She was intelligent, and her conversation was enjoyable. She was powerful with her magic, of course, and casting together brought each of them great pleasure. Perhaps it was her genuine affection for the Queen, though, that set Emma apart. She looked at her with warmth even when she was angry or frustrated, and always made an effort to be honest and genuine, or at least make it obvious when she was lying or evading a question.

To that end, even six months after having taken Emma on as a student, Regina still wasn't quite sure what to make of their strange relationship. The blonde now lived and worked with the other magic users in Regina's employ. She wore the red sash of her station around the waist of her more tasteful –yet still practical—dresses each day, studied dutifully for the two hours Regina would dedicate to her training every other evening, assisted the other mages in their duties whenever possible, and yet still tended to Regina in the mornings and evenings. She hadn't the time to complete all of the duties of a handmaiden now, of course, (and had actually been replaced with a young redhead named Nastusia) but she still dressed her for the day and spent time brushing out Regina's hair both in the mornings and in the evenings.

And Regina did so love how Emma tended to her hair.

She'd been surprised, when Emma continued on with certain habits and duties even after Matron Josie acquired little Nastusia, but Regina never said a word about it, and neither did Emma. If they spoke of it, they'd be obligated to stop; and Regina didn't want that.

They didn't speak of quite a lot of things, really. Neither of them ever mentioned that Regina went out of her way to find excuses for Emma to remain by her side and assist her during the day. Both she and Emma were both aware (and never acknowledged the fact) that Regina knew that the blonde put in quite a bit of extra effort to specifically learn and/or maintain skills that would enable this habit. Neither dared bring up the fact that their talks had graduated from the level of small talk towards the deep confidences of close friends. This was one of the many reasons why Regina never explicitly asked Emma about her past. If Emma felt that she had to hide it from her, it was certainly something that would upset her, and a big part of Regina didn't want to know about Emma's past if it would harm their fledgling unacknowledged friendship. So she tried very hard not to think about it. It wasn't very 'Evil Queen' of her, but… it had been so _very_ long since anyone had cared for her as Emma did, and Regina had always been weak in this way. Her heart so longed for the tender, softer emotions of life and yet was repeatedly denied them or burned by them so often that even the slightest sign of true affection sent her into a spiral of panic, fear, and unsurpassed and utter _yearning_.

And it had been years. She wasn't as angry and hurt as she once was. She'd risen above much of her hatred, and it had left her empty. For so long, all she'd had was her revenge, and once she'd taken a more passive approach to it after recognizing that it would only destroy what little happiness she herself had left, she'd been bereft. Though she'd never expressed as much aloud, she simply didn't feel so empty when she was with Emma. She'd like to say that it was their magic that did it. The magic that she had spent hours locked in her personal library searching for the spell to free, even though she'd pretended that the action was a simple one at the time: an afterthought that didn't require such intensive research and focus to complete. She wanted to pretend that it was that same wonderful, glorious feeling that they made together that felt like sunlight and gentle caresses and smelt like summer grass and sweet apples and cinnamon and buzzed through her whole body like a lover's touch whenever they were near. But it wasn't. Not entirely. It wasn't just Emma's magic that brought her such a strange combination of pleasure and joy. It was _Emma_.

She was the Queen. She was strong. Stronger than her mother, and Leopold, and Snow White, and any of the multitudes of people who had ever told her that she wasn't worthy; that she didn't deserve happiness; that being happy was –for a monster like her—something that couldn't be done. She didn't need _anyone_, and she didn't need Emma, but it was still nice to have her there. It made being the Queen –and therefore alone—easier. So Regina allowed herself this one indulgence. Emma.

And it was nice. Though she was often tempted to do so, Regina never sated her body's desire for Emma's touch but instead sated her heart's desire for her company. They were, insofar as was possible for a Queen and a palace mage to be, inseparable. It wasn't until shortly past the sixth month of this change in dynamic that they fought for the first time.

It started with Regina's review of a trading agreement with the Lancaster Hillsmen in the north, of all things. The Lancaster Hillsmen was a tribe of rough and ragged miners that occupied the unclaimed Blue Mountains in the north that separated the Silverlands from the Northern Kingdom. Not many were as hardy as they, and very few dared to traverse the mountain passes at all, much less live and work there as the Lancasters did. Though perilous, the Blue Mountains did have one redeeming quality. They were rich with rare ores and precious rocks and gems. The Lancaster Hillsmen were, first and foremost, miners; and they lived richly off of the products that they sold over all of the kingdoms. Regina had recently brokered a deal with the tribe that allowed the Lancasters forty percent of the harvest of one of her three great estates in the west in exchange for ten percent of the take of one of their five southernmost mines. (There was a food shortage in the Northern Kingdom that year, and the Summerlands had outbid the still-struggling Silverwoods by a margin of fifteen percent.) All that was left for Regina to do was to choose which mine was most profitable.

Emma was sitting quietly in her study with her, as she'd taken to doing recently. Regina used her to proofread her outgoing documents instead of doing so herself. (It was only efficient, she told herself.) Normally, the blonde kept quietly to the armchair by the window, so as to stay out of the Queen's way whilst she was working. Every so often, however, something on Regina's desktop would catch her eye and she'd make a comment. Such was the case today.

"Is that a map of the Lancaster mines?" she asked, breaking the silence as Regina's movement to unroll a map across the desk and lean over it ponderingly caught her attention.

No longer surprised by Emma's breadth of knowledge, Regina didn't bother to look up and instead nodded her head. "It is," she confirmed. "I am attempting to determine which of these mines—" She indicated the marked sites. "—is the most productive. I've no doubt the Lancasters were less than truthful with their provided assessment. My intelligence indicates that this one here, as opposed to their recommendation, is the true gem," she finished, jabbing at the leftmost spot.

Frowning, the blonde stood and moved to Regina's side, lips pursed. Her eyes flickered over the map thoughtfully before she released a little snort of derision. "You'd be cheated with the west mine. It's a fairly lucrative producer of emeralds, but little else of value," she said matter-of-factly. Instead, she pointed to the mine just to the right of it. "Of your options, this one would be your best bet. It yields a fair bit of silver, but the true wealth lies in the diamonds. Nearly twice the gain of their secondmost productive site."

Regina narrowed her eyes at the woman, unappreciative of being questioned. "And how would a _tavern girl from Lyon_ know such a thing as that?" she snapped out. "Why should I trust _anything _you say, _Emma?_ I don't even know your name."

In hindsight, perhaps even the most delightful puzzles became frustrating after a time. Regina wasn't quite sure what came over her to suddenly snap at the woman in this way, and she chose to ignore the pang in her chest that erupted upon seeing how stunned and somewhat wounded her former handmaiden appeared at this outburst, maintaining her stony expression.

Emma swallowed convulsively, but maintained eye contact. Regina liked that about her. She wasn't afraid to look at her.

"May I request permission to speak freely, Your Majesty?" Emma breathed. Her expression was neutral, but Regina had become adept at reading her in all the time she'd spent with the younger woman at her side these past months, assisting her with anything and everything she could. She saw sadness in those eyes, and resignation too.

She nodded.

A tight smile of gratitude tugged at Emma's pink lips for a fleeting moment before her emotions were once again wrestled into obedience. "I owe you my eternal gratitude, my Queen," she stated simply. "I never knew what a true home, or acceptance, was until you took me in that day on the road, and that is a gift more precious than the wealth of ten kingdoms put together. Perhaps you have no reason to trust me… and perhaps you shouldn't. But know that you have my loyalty completely, and without question or condition. I would gladly reveal my secrets to you, but…" Emma hesitated, using the time to compose herself. Her voice had begun to waver slightly in an uncharacteristic show of emotion, and Regina found herself feeling oddly moved by the speech. "…but if that is what you wish, then I have but one request of you. I wish to take a blood oath bond."

At this proclamation, Regina stiffened, beyond surprised. A blood oath bond…

That was old magic. Older than the heart magic she herself practiced, though blood magic had fallen out of use hundreds of years ago. It was dangerous. Heart magic was simple. Magic was emotion, and emotion stemmed from the heart –metaphorically, anyways. Take the heart, take the person. Simple. Blood magic was its more unpredictable predecessor. Blood was life, and life was its own kind of magic. Raw and elemental, and very powerful: fraught with unintended consequences and life-altering results. Whereas heart magic had a defined user and victim, blood magic affected both or all persons involved in its invocation. Such was its power. Regina had employed many methods of control in her time as Queen. Taking hearts was the simplest way to ensure obedience, but it did not ensure loyalty. Love potions worked well for that, but such things tended to be rather volatile and easily broken. Enchanted collars, memory alteration, even good, old-fashioned psychological domination. But nothing –_nothing_—was as powerful as a blood oath bond.

Hundreds of years before, when blood magic was still in frequent use, liegelords would use blood oath bonds to tether the very lives of their champions to their own. Someone who had taken a blood oath bond was incapable of betraying their liege. The bond manifested itself as a magical tattoo, which –depending on the strength of the bond and the power of the magical practitioner who had initiated it—could be used by the liege for any number of practical purposes. The most common side effect was the champion's ability to sense if their master was in danger, and it wasn't unheard of for a liege to have the ability to summon their champion to their side. There was sometimes a two-way emotional sensitivity aspect as well, as a blood oath bond made the champion a part of their liege. It made them their sword to wield and their faithful servant from the moment the bond took until the death of either party.

A blood bond oath was a serious thing. A dangerous and unnecessary thing.

So why did Emma want it?

"Pardon?" Regina spluttered, her impeccable composure faltering ever so slightly. She was moved by Emma's speech, but this request concerned her.

"If I were to reveal all of my secrets to you, my Queen," Emma said evenly, "I would not ever wish for you to question my loyalty. If I am bound to you, it will free me of any prior ties, and you will know that you have it –_me_—unconditionally." The blonde was calm. Too calm. Still, like the air just before a deluge.

Regina pursed her lips, unsure of how to feel. She did not answer Emma though, and instead focused all of her attention back onto the map beneath her hands, making a note to consider the mine with the diamonds. They did not speak for the remainder of that day, and come morning, both pretended that nothing out of the ordinary had occurred between them.

But it was a discussion that Regina knew would not be soon forgotten.


End file.
